Gamble on Hadron's Lobuli
by Bjorn af Aalborg
Summary: In the closing days of the Clone Wars a powerful enemy hunts a runaway Jedi youngling for reasons beyond his understanding. Taken aboard the smuggling ship Hadron's Lobuli, the youngling and smugglers cross the galaxy seeking refuge while uncovering the secret that may cost the young Jedi his life.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The thrum of lightsabers filled the air. The glow of a half-dozen beams shone through gaps in the forest remains as the enemy steadily advanced, searching for him. He assumed more hid beyond his sight, moving stealthily with their lightsabers cold. He didn't know how many of the enemy had landed on the planet, but he knew they had no intention of taking him alive. Before the enemy dropships entered the atmosphere turbolaser blasts fired from orbit annihilated the yacht his master had landed on the planet. The heat of the explosion burned their backs 800 meters away. Lai Stree told him to run, and Okuvad always obeyed his master. Soon they spotted the shuttles through the twisted branches of the dead forest, spread over an area several kilometers in either direction. The enemy must have scanned the yacht for life signs and found none, but logic would dictate Lai Stree and Okuvad would be near their transport. Now, Okuvad could feel the noose tightening.

Lai Stree urged Okuvad to keep running then turned back, sounds of fighting erupting only moments later. Okuvad hoped his master survived the ambush; the alternative of Lai Stree succumbing to the enemy terrified Okuvad. Regardless of Lai Stree's survival Okuvad had no choice but to run. He ran with the recklessness only desperation allows, powering through the gnarly branches barring his path. Okuvad's thoughts lingered on the blaster holstered against his back, useless, and regretted his own lack of a lightsaber.

His eyes darted left and right searching for his master, even casting looks over his shoulder when he could without the risk of a collision with a scraggly tree or fall into a sinkhole. No matter where he looked or how long his sight lingered, he caught no sign of Lai Stree's lurching figure. Her apprentice for years, he had never seen her run before and never believed her capable of the athleticism he had seen moments before. Though her skin and hair appeared humanoid enough, his master's alien physique always struck Okuvad as awkward. Her thick, short legs sprouted from a too long torso, broad shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip yet disturbingly thin from chest to back. Her arms seemed normal length for a humanoid at her fairly average 1.65 meters height, but her hands added nearly half again their length giving her a vaguely simian figure and gait. Okuvad had never seen her move at anything more than a slow waddle, rocking side-to-side as she moved and bracing her thick tail against the ground for balance and propulsion. Tonight, she had easily kept pace with Okuvad, despite his standard humanoid build and youth. She used her long arms to clear obstacles, sometimes swinging hand-over-hand along low-hanging branches and other times cartwheeling so that her long arms took her over hazards her short legs could not overcome.

Without Lai Stree at his side Okuvad could only hope for escape. Most species would find the night too dark to see, but Okuvad's sensitive eyes easily guided him through the sturdy forest remnant. Just as he started to fear the forest may stretch forever the stubs gave way to an arid plain of jagged outcroppings looming eerily in the starlight. Okuvad spied the rim of Secaruta on the horizon, city lights beaming into the night sky. It was a lot of open ground to cover, but Okuvad was not without a few advantageous tricks. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and slowing his breath. He could feel the Force around him, the aspect the Jedi called the Living Force, connecting all living things in the galaxy. He didn't reach out for it, nor did he push it away. Okuvad let it pass through him naturally, the way the wind rustles through leaves or currents swirling in a river. He felt his Force energy blending seamlessly into the the flow of the Living Force. Okuvad opened his eyes and looked down at his body. His features blended eerily with the wind-battered rock around him.

He took one probing step west, then another and another. Step after step not one footfall made a sound. He was one with the Living Force and moved across the plain without so much as a whisper. He wasn't invisible, a focused full-spectrum scanner would detect him. However, a general sensor sweep or casual glance should pass over him without notice. Unless he walked directly into one of the enemy he was free to cross the plain without fear. Now, only the planet itself was a danger. Whirlwinds perpetually scoured the planet's surface, dangerous and unpredictable. He may have saved himself from the burn of a lightsaber's blade, but if he didn't reach safety soon the wind would soon dash him to death against the rocks.

Force be praised the winds never came, but navigating the planet's countless sinkholes compelled Okuvad to push south of his desired course. He'd nearly passed the city several kilometers to the south before the terrain allowed him to turn north again, his progress slowed even more by the need to remain hidden from the enemy. He'd hoped their own fear of the hyperwinds would cause them to give up the search, but several times throughout the night enemy transports and interceptors crisscrossed the sky. Luckily none passed directly over Okuvad; their close-range sensors may have distinguished his life signs despite his best efforts. His parlor trick worked well on a mind prone to assumptions, but the cold calculations of a ship's computer wouldn't care about his effort.

He hesitated at the edge of civilization. Likely, enemy propaganda already labeled him a fugitive and begged the locals to aid in the search. Okuvad would need a change of clothes, a disguise. In a galaxy home to numerous planet-wide cities Secaruta was a backwater. Hell, it wasn't even a significant city by the planet's standards. Lai Stree chose their proximity to the city specifically because it provided a large enough population to hide in with spaceport services while still falling beneath the notice of most planetary visitors. Okuvad could see the line of low buildings he knew encircled one of the giant sinkholes that marred the planet's crust. The rim would serve as the city's visitor center with spaceports, cantinas, inns, and entertainment. Buildings in the rim district were built like bunkers to shelter people from the extreme weather destroying the planet's surface. The bulk of the city lie below in the caves and crevices of the sinkhole, the wealth and influence of the neighborhoods growing weaker the deeper into the pit one went.

To Okuvad's vision, the rim district was a strange mix of muted pastels interrupted by occasional swaths of brilliant blues and violets. He knew the city and planet had a diverse population with several species of native sentients and dozens more visiting. The thought of just what those other species saw or what the original architects intended fluttered across his mind. The buildings constructed by natives incorporated the skeletal remains of the planet's lost megafauna, an aesthetic he found beautiful and primeval. The corners of his mouth turned down as he spied an all too familiar mar on the splendor. Mixed with the rugged constructs were smooth metallic spheres and cylinders: the tacky prefabricated structures that popped up everywhere touched by the Separatists.

The thought distracted him enough his camouflage slipped, and he quickly freed his mind of the thought. Once again he surrendered his identity to the Living Force, leaving only the slightest glimmer of his own will to guide his movements. He maintained his camouflage even within the limits of the city, knowing descriptions of his person and be-on-the-lookout orders had traveled faster than he. At the late hour the crowd proved too sparse for him to hide in without it. His made finding a mundane way to obscure his identity his first priority. He certainly couldn't remain a flutter of consciousness within the Force forever. The effort would probably kill him.

Okuvad could access adequate credits, but the enemy knew Lai Stree's identity if they had tracked her ship. They would be monitoring her accounts and his, waiting for him to tap into his resources and tracing the transactions. The idea of using the Force to commit petty theft offended Okuvad's beliefs, but at the moment he knew no other way of protecting himself. The combination of security and patronage made his task impossible at the tailors and outfitters he scouted. Even hours before dawn enough nocturnal sentients prowled the streets to keep the businesses open and occupied. His ability to blend with his environment would slip from the effort of interacting with doors and commodities, and he wouldn't risk even a single person seeing him. He needed a place to release his concealment and rely on more traditional stealth techniques to acquire his disguise.

Okuvad considered several possibilities for acquiring clothing and quickly determined to target a laundry. His plan produced fruit. He found a hotel nestled in one of the craggy buildings dominating the local architecture. He slipped into the back via a loading dock someone neglected to shut, moving as unnoticed through the building's interior as he had the city streets. Predictably the hotel had its own service laundry, worker droids busied themselves with the day's soiled bedding. He moved among them without incident or alarm, the droids likely programmed to do little else than operate the laundry equipment. Once he identified fitting clothes, he could step from his concealment without fear of the droids betraying his actions. Through a service door he could see two sentients moving about the establishment, a concierge busying himself about the lobby and someone Okuvad thought might be the hotel owner, based on the way she instructed the concierge. Perhaps she was a senior employee instructing an apprentice. Either way he guessed dawn soon approached by the way they seemed to prepare for an influx of customers. The superior swept her eyes over Okuvad several times without noticing him then moved out of his vision.

He returned to the laundry and carefully crouched behind the equipment as he returned his concentration and consciousness to the moment, letting his camouflage slip away. He took his time finding acceptable attire, appropriating a black suit of fine cloth under a long coat to hide the blaster tucked into his waist. The ensemble looked like it may have belonged to a hotel bar keep or head waiter and wasn't exactly high fashion, but he eliminated the crisp white shirt and flipped the collar of the jacket hoping to give himself a more casual look. The outfit was slightly ruined by his dirtied and somewhat more functional boots, but they were black as well and good enough for the time being. He returned to the streets with his head down hoping to hide his face. By chance he passed a cosmetics store and took the opportunity improve his disguise. Several sentients perused the store's goods despite the now early hour. Unwilling to risk stealing in front of witnesses he opted for a subtle deception.

Okuvad could claim only a modest strength in the Force, but his talents lie in connecting with the life around him. He smiled and exchanged pleasantries and went through all the right motions, but he gently nudged the clerk's mind with the Force before walking away with his goods and a receipt without paying. He helped himself to the refresher and used the stolen cosmetics to cover the natural grey-blue skin of his people. Okuvad knew he lacked the skill to change his skin tone while keeping a natural appearance so he took a more extreme route. Every bit of exposed skin he covered with a matte black then used a metallic gold paint to trace delicate spiral scrolls around his eyes and lips.

Okuvad hit the street like he owned the whole planet. He walked one foot in front of the other with a swagger in his step, wearing his best scoundrel's smirk and meeting every eye that turned his way. When someone stared, he made sure to hold their gaze. His look was outlandish, but in a city as diverse as this not wholly unusual. One thing was certain: he was making an impression. Everyone who saw him would remember him. They would remember a person who absolutely wanted attention and looked nothing like a pale-skinned fugitive lurking in the shadows. With the danger of discovery abated, Okuvad could concentrate on planning an escape from the planet. Nothing, not the Force or any alerts on the HoloNet, had forewarned Lai Stree of the hunt. Only luck or the will of the Force had saved them, still scrambling home through the night instead of sleeping in their quarters on the yacht when the bombardment came, and the following attack and search were certainly well coordinated. That much was obvious to Okuvad. Someone powerful and clever enough to conceal their intent had planned the operation. Someone who could even hide their intentions from the Force. Someone with the resources and political pull to deploy a small detachment of Republic ships and soldiers to a planet nominally under Separatist control.

Okuvad was stranded, separated from his master, and hunted by the Jedi Council.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lai Stree-consular and academic-left the Jedi Order at the onset of the Clone War three standard years earlier, refusing to condone the Republic's aggression toward the Confederacy of Independent Systems. With her apprentice in tow, she fled Coruscant to pursue her studies of the Force free of the Order's militarization. Neither student nor master could claim the field and combat experience of the modern Jedi. The ideal of a monastic order promoting peace had died, replaced by a fanatical paramilitary of Force-wielding special forces operatives. Lai Stree's studies of Jedi history predicted an inevitable consequence of Jedi militarization: corruption. War required aggression, bred hate for the enemy, and instilled fear of death. She abandoned the Jedi sure of their imminent destruction from within, hoping to distance herself from the catastrophe and rebuild a pure Jedi Order from the ashes of the Clone War.

Now, Okuvad wished they had at least a fraction of the Jedi's military experience. Lai Stree and Okuvad never believed the Order would turn on them; they broke no laws and lived peacefully. As such, they had no contingency plans in place for the destruction of their ship or being separated. Their communicators should reach from the city to their landing site, but the Jedi and their clone troopers would intercept any unencrypted communications. Okuvad could reach out to her through the Force, but the Jedi may feel his location through the disturbance. He had too little information to work with: no idea what to do, no idea why he was hunted, and no idea what was happening beyond his immediate surroundings. He had to fall back on the familiar. If this were an academic dilemma he would combat his ignorance with research and study. To that end, Okuvad set out in search of knowledge.

His journey wasn't long. Public HoloNet terminals and security droids quickly spread the word of a bald, grey-skinned missing humanoid named Okuvad wanted by the Republic. One report mentioned a reward of 50,000 Republic credits for information leading to Okuvad's capture or 100,000 credits for his delivery, alive; a heavy bounty. Disturbingly, none of the reports mentioned Lai Stree. He believed that meant she was dead or captured, but Okuvad couldn't be sure which. He hoped he would have felt her death through the Force, but when blending with the Living Force Okuvad lost all awareness beyond his immediate surroundings. The Jedi could have killed her while he trekked to the city without him feeling her death.

Separation was unfamiliar territory for Okuvad. Three years earlier he passed his Initiate Trials and became Lai Stree's apprentice. The Clone War broke out while Okuvad awaited his trip to Ilum to participate in the Gathering, the final step before acquiring a kyber crystal for his lightsaber. Lai Stree led him into exile with her that very day. In the years since the two had traveled the Galaxy staying as far from the conflict as possible rarely leaving the other's side. They studied the folk traditions of dozens of Force-based organizations, religions, and cultures. Lai Stree lectured him on the false construct of a Light or Dark side of the Force, illusions created by the Jedi's and Sith's slavish devotion to dogmatic ideals. The two factions' animosity resulting from preconceived expectations of the Force. Even the aspects of the Cosmic and Living Force were arbitrarily defined, the Jedi's trivial method of explaining differing perceptions of a complex issue. Through Lai Stree's teachings, Okuvad came to see that conflict between Dark and Light had grown not from a fundamental imbalance of the Force but the corruption of individuals. The emotionless and strictly conservative teachings of the Jedi forced their disciples to ignore and suppress their emotional needs. War created more emotional urges than the Jedi were trained to resist. Exhausted, Jedi would abandon the fight against those urges, giving in to the teachings of the Sith only because their philosophy taught them the Dark side of the Force was the inevitable consequence of failure.

Free of those teachings-neither a slave to the dogma of others or his own emotions-Okuvad could freely take any action necessary to resolve a situation. To that end, he began ticking off facts as he knew them. A single bookish apprentice could not defeat a half-dozen Jedi Knights and their padawans, especially with several transports worth of clones for support. If Lai Stree lived he couldn't rescue her, and if she was dead he couldn't avenge her. No matter how skilled in the Force or how well his disguise he couldn't hide his identity forever, staying on planet wasn't an option. He should flee but Lai Stree's yacht was reduced to molten debris. Legal transport off planet wouldn't work, his only access to credits was tied to his real identity. The options quickly narrowed down to one: he needed a smuggler. Without criminal background he wasn't sure exactly how one located smugglers, but Okuvad applied his skills as a scholar to the problem.

 _ _If I were a smuggler, where would I make my refuge?__ Okuvad thought. __Proximity to the major trade docks is a positive, and after weeks or months in space entertainment takes a priority. If I'm participating in illicit dealings, proximity to law enforcement is a negative factor. Would proximity to customs inspectors be good or bad? Could go either way...__ He settled on starting his search based on two criteria: proximity to a trade dock as a positive and proximity to law enforcement as a negative.

Finding a public HoloNet terminal in a city this size came easy enough. The terminal had limited access and features but did provide public information for both the city and the planet. Okuvad's strengths did not include advanced computer skills, but he wasn't exactly trying to slice into a top secret database. He managed to access a holomap hosted by a local real estate company that allowed property searches based on desired features. Unfortunately, the program only allowed him to search for positive correlations and didn't have the ability to avoid or distance the results from a specified factor. After a few test searches, he realized that obstacle could be circumvented by inputting a favorable factor then listing the results in reverse order to view the least favorable locations. The best he could do was generate lists of potential properties. The process proved simple but irritatingly tedious. With no personal datapad or durasheet printer available, Okuvad had to commit each list to memory and visualize them as he compared to locations. For simplicity's sake he only focussed on locations furthest from law enforcement centers.

On his mental map he circled an area he hoped represented the most wretched hive of scum and villainy Secaruta could offer. One last search showed him the locations for Secaruta's entertainment districts. He picked the seediest of the districts (the words exotic, adult, and cantina appeared quite often) and set out for the strip of city blocks where entertainment and lawlessness overlapped, hoping the Force was with him.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Okuvad feared to spend credits even for a taxi to his smuggler's paradise, and by the time he arrived on foot the sun had climbed high in the sky. The brightness stung his light-sensitive eyes, and he learned to regret not stealing some sort of eye protection. Okuvad roamed the streets of Secaruta nearly blind, impolitely pushing his way through the busy streets in keeping with his narcissistic disguise. Such was his state that he failed to realize he'd stepped free of the crowd into an unnaturally vacant street, only stopping when the sound of raised voices drew his attention to the scene ahead. Backing away quickly, Okuvad found the normally bustling crowd standing in a dense mass staring intently down the street. Nestling himself between a Pantoran and a gangly six-limbed Xexto, Okuvad asked, "What's happening?"

The Pantoran, a black-haired woman with wide golden eyes, couldn't tear her gaze away from the events before her. In hushed tones she replied, "Constable Buzilgan has located the Jedi's fugitive but when he approached the cantina the man pulled a pair blasters. Now it's a standoff."

Okuvad's shock didn't reach his face, but he couldn't believe this was coincidence. "They sure it's him? The missing person?"

"I certainly hope so, Secaruta has become dangerous for all us blue-skinned humanoids. The reward has half the city turning wannabe bounty hunter, dragging people to the authorities based on the barest similarity to the description. My husband has been assaulted twice since dawn, both times hauled to the Republic Embassy for identification."

The Xexto chimed in with, "Blue skin, pink skin, grey skin… humanoids all look the same. We should round you all up for identification." Several seconds of silence and stares prompted the Xexto to add, "I jest," with an awkward shrug.

A sudden flash and bang caused the crowd to break into a series of shouts and screams, bodies grinding as they tried to flee through those behind unaware of the sudden danger. Luckily for Okuvad's eyes, the young apprentice had not turned his gaze back to the cantina yet. Assuming the flashes meant the constable's men were attempting to assault the building, he turned to watch just in time to see stun bolts start flying from the cantina as a small group charged into the street. The constable and his men didn't respond, and Okuvad realized the flash grenade came from within the cantina. Unable to defend themselves, the constables went down without firing a shot. The fleeing sentients fired stun bolts into the crowd indiscriminately, sending the watchers scattering or collapsing to clear the street for their escape. Okuvad easily identified the one mistaken for himself, a Duros with blue-green flesh and a silver pistol in each hand. AS the poor Pantoran woman had suggested, the resemblance was slim. To Okuvad's astonishment, the Duros looked directly at him and without hesitation unleashed a barrage of stun bolts. Unprepared to defend himself Okuvad fell backward, his mind slipping to blackness as his head hit impacted the street.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Okuvad woke to a wave of startling realizations: he was no longer in the street, his head hurt, he wasn't restrained, and he was looking directly at the back of the sentient who shot him. The after effects of the stun blast left him stupefied, and the pain around the back of his skull hinted at a possible concussion from collapsing on the hard surface of the street. He tried puzzling out the implications of his situation but answers vanished as he found them in an ephemeral dance of confused thoughts. If he were a hostage or taken as bounty stun cuffs would have been his captor's first order of business. That was… baffling. The escapees shouldn't have slowed to collect him if they weren't going to hold him prisoner. The more he tried to work his brain the less capable it became, overloaded by surprise and trauma. If he could find no answers from his internal dialogue he had only one remaining option. "What in the name of Malachor are you doing?" he demanded.

"Quiet, pale eyes! I'm trying to rescue you," came the reply in a gruff and grating voice. Up close, Okuvad wasn't so sure his captor was Duros as he had thought on the street. He had the blue-green skin, red eyes, and head devoid of hair or nose; but his cranium was far more humanoid than the bulbous dome typical of Duros. His hands, too, appeared far more human than they should. __By the Force, what is happening__ , thought Okuvad.

Mustering every ounce of sass and bile he could muster, Okuvad curtly asked, "What are you?" Several heads turned to him then, and the stares served as a blunt reminder his captor had fled with some sort of gang in tow. Four more sentients crowded the space with him, all glaring at him intensely. He fought the urge to profusely apologize for his rudeness. Studying the faces of the scoundrels gave Okuvad a good peripheral view of the space they occupied, and he realized they were in some sort of shuttle. The not-quite-a-Duros sat in the pilot's chair, still and intently monitoring sensor displays. The other sentients loomed around him and gave the shuttle a cramped feeling, but his recovering mind slowly noted that the space itself was fairly large. The shuttle must have rivaled the size of the clones' dropships. The quarters only seemed tight because of stacks of cargo crates eating up the space.

"How rude," his captor responded. After a moment's pause he answered, "I'm Umbaran," in a mocking tone.

Too addled to see the trap Okuvad blurted, "Are not!"

This drew the sentient's attention, who turned from the shuttle's controls and regarded Okuvad with a knowing smirk. "And, how do you know that? Familiar with the shadow people are you?" Okuvad hesitated to respond, not wanting to reveal his own identity with his answer. "Not many are," his captor continued. "I wonder how you saw through my lie?" The sentient didn't give him the chance to find a convincing lie. "Don't panic. I can see through that disguise. Clever, but next time cover your eyes. With eyes like that, I'd recognize an Umbaran anywhere. I also know you're the one with the Republic bounty on his head. I don't believe someone like you shows up just as Buzilgan and his goons try dragging me in." He practically spat the name of the constable. "Can I safely assume you were there looking for someone to smuggle you off planet? Well, you're in luck: I have good reason to leave and a ship. With fancy clothes like that, I assume you will offer an appropriate reward, yes? Say, double your bounty for safe passage."

The deluge of revelations and offer left Okuvad even more unbalanced and unsure of how to respond. He used the understandable moment of shock to prepare himself and gather his will. Okuvad did not have Lai Stree's indomitable talent of persuading minds with the Force. His master could channel her will to slowly crush the resolve of her target, applying ever increasing amounts of pressure like the weight of a starship slowly descending on one's psyche. Or, she could hit someone with one intense whip-crack of will, shattering a mind like stressed transparisteel. Okuvad's own limited talent left him with little more than the ability to nudge a thought toward more favorable conclusions, guiding the subject toward conclusions already weighed. He utilized that meager advantage now, reinforcing the assumptions of the pilot and answering with a simple, "Yes."

His red-eyed captor simply nodded and turned back to his console. "Good, now shut up. I'm about to try something very tricky that might kill us all if I screw it up."

Given more time to look around, Okuvad carefully assessed his situation. He peeked past the pilot to see the shuttle hovered in some sort of narrow alley, buildings to either side providing cover from most angles. The alley was a good place to hide for a moment but didn't seem to offer anything like an opportunity to flee the planet. Before Okuvad's hampered intelligence guessed at the plan, a droid's voice came across the ship's communicator.

" _ _Captain, initiate intercept on my mark. 3… 2… 1… mark!__ "

Suddenly, the shuttle lurched into a nearly vertical position and shot into the sky. A fraction of a moment later some sort of freighter or transport ship sped overhead. The red-eyed pilot yanked the shuttle's yoke and rammed the throttle forward, sending them chasing after the spacecraft with such ferocity the inertial compensators failed to fully negate the force and roughly slammed Okuvad into the back of his seat. The jarring maneuver would have caused him to empty his stomach had it any contents to disgorge. He looked up to see the shuttle gaining on the other craft, and he finally realized the pilot's strategy.

The pilot keyed his communicator. "Dani, I need you to reduce speed by 0.1187% or I won't dock before we break atmo."

A droid's voice responded, " _ _Aye, aye, Captain. But, I must inform you I hit my mark within an acceptable margin of error. You initiated intercept several hundred milliseconds slower than instructed.__ "

"Keep up the backtalk, Dani, and I'll deny your next request for an oil bath."

" _ _As you say, Captain. I shall cease pointing out your inadequacies… for now.__ "

As the pale blue of the planet's sky gave way to the blackness of space, the shuttle moved beneath the craft they chased. A screech of durasteel and a slight jerk announced the engagement of a docking clamp. The crew immediately sprang into action, which included a rough three-fingered hand suddenly clamping Okuvad by the nape of his neck and jerking him to his feet. He looked up the furred arm to find the elongated face of a Yarkora who must have stood more than two meters tall. The camelid's soft brown fur expelled an odor so pungent Okuvad thought that might explain his fuzzy mind more than the stun blast. The sentient's too wide mouth made strange movements and croaked out an understandable but braying form of Basic. "Come, calf. Time for your tour."

The pilot had initiated the shuttle's shutdown procedures and was barking orders through his personal communicator. "Dammit, Dani. I know there are Republic cruisers in orbit, and I know they want to board the ship. That's why the plan is to jump to hyperspace as soon as possible, we can't afford to have them digging through the holds. Calculate the jump and get us out of here. I don't care where to." The tirade continued but the pilot was first up the ladder into the docking port and quickly passed out of hearing range. The Yarkora maintained a tight grasp on Okuvad's neck, holding him in place as he pointed a heavy nailed finger at each crew member as they followed the pilot.

"Inchinn," he said of a young male Givin, face the haunting bone-white exoskeleton typical of his species. Next came a tan-skinned Dug male with a long snout, awkwardly but quickly ascending the ladder. Dugs walked on their hands, their torso in a reclined position compared to the posture of most bipeds. "Stelisto, give him a wide berth. That golden-eyed malkin is M'Linzi, our security chief," he said with a nod toward a lithe female covered with close-cropped fur. Her slightly feline appearance marked her as a Zygerrian, Okuvad believed. "Khadae is my name. Follow, I'll show you your quarters."

Okuvad watched the Yarkora climb the ladder, waiting anxiously for enough room to follow him. He tried to ignore the steady gaze of the Zygerrian woman as she shadowed the edge of his perception. Short brown fur seemed to bristle at his presence though she stood stone still. Only her eyes and sharply pointed ears followed him as he moved to the ladder, every inch of her muscular frame tensed like a predator ready to pounce. The climb from shuttle to ship was maybe six meters floor to floor; M'Linzi never made so much as a whisper as she followed rung after rung. Okuvad realized that if she ever decided he was a threat he might never see or hear her coming, the Force be damned.

Okuvad emerged onto the deck of a long corridor, maybe six meters wide. Khadae extended a hand to help Okuvad out of the ladderwell, which he accomplished by simply picking him straight up by the arm and setting his feet down on the floor. The Yarkora gestured first one way then the other. "The main corridor. Arrows point forward to the cockpit, medical suite, galley, refresher, and sleeping quarters. Spaces you have permission to access, with the exception of the cockpit. The cross corridor leads to the lateral turrets and passenger ramps. Aft to the armory, cargo hold, engine room, and hyperdrive bay; if you enter any of them without the captain's permission M'Linzi will kill you. Right, M'Linzi?"

"Right." He felt her breath on his cheek as she spoke. When Okuvad turned he found the Zygerrian had exited the the ladderwell and slipped next to him undetected. Slightly crouched to look him in the eye, the tip of her nose was not more than a few centimeters from his and golden eyes staring. Not a subtle demonstration of her skills but effective.

Khadae waved toward the forward section of the ship. "Follow, you have more crew to meet and I'll show you your bunk." Okuvad followed the camelid up the main corridor. The ship wasn't huge, a light freighter he thought. Okuvad guessed it couldn't be much more than 100 meters in length and seemed to be several times longer than its width. Khadae pointed at several hatches naming the owner of each room, all crew he had been introduced to. Just aft of the refresher, Khadae announced they had arrived at Okuvad's quarters. "Our quarters are full. You share."

The hatch swished open and Okuvad poked his head in to see his new roommate. "A clone!" he exclaimed. The man in the room could barely be described as such, but Okuvad recognized the face. A face replicated millions of times across the galaxy was in front of him on a body more cybernetics than man. Both arms and legs were obvious mechanical replacements, and significant sections of his torso and skull appeared to have been replaced as well. The clone sat on the edge of a cot, staring into his prosthetic hands.

The Yarkora smiled. "A clone, yes. Not many recognize one out of uniform, especially in such condition. Aren't you knowledgeable for one so young. Rayjer is the name he gave us. We found him on Felucia, left for dead in the fungus. Not the kind of salvage we seek, but our doctor took a shine to him, I think." A firm hand once again grasped Okuvad by the nape of his neck, gently yet unyieldingly turning him around. Across the corridor from his quarters an open hatch with the medical suite beyond and the most beautiful woman Okuvad had ever seen. Pale, plum-colored skin, violet hair streaked with faint red highlights, a body curving like a Nubian yacht, and a knowing smirk on voluptuous lips.

Okuvad suddenly jerked straight, realizing that knowing smirk was because she watched him as he stared at her. Lai Stree was far from Okuvad's perception of an attractive woman, and six times his age, but the Zeltron across from him was perfect. Something stirred in him that he'd never felt in his young life. Something he recognized as dangerous. Whatever it was, he would need to meditate soon to stamp it out. For now, he took a deep breath and forced himself to look away… into the face of a grinning Khadae. The Yarkora's smile was a disturbing sight, the left and right flaps of his upper lip pulling up and away from each other revealing a frightening set of jagged yellow teeth.

"The beautiful lady calls herself Du Rivau. Talented surgeon she is, let's hope you do not require her services." Khadae's mirth faded as he gestured again, "The cockpit you will neither see nor access, young friend. Only crew are allowed within. Our pilot, D4-N1, does not leave often so do not expect to find it unattended. Acquaint yourself with your quarters. You will be locked within while we assess your security risk. Understand, yes?"

Knowing he had little choice but to comply, Okuvad stepped toward the room only to have a delicately clawed hand of the Zygerrian M'Linzi catch him by the arm, a firm and unyielding grip only just short of painful. He didn't resist the violent grip or protest as her hand slide under the tails of his stolen jacket, coming to rest on the grip of the blaster he had tucked into the waist of his pants. "I'll put this in the armory, for safekeeping," she said. She released her grip on his arm and quickly stepped out of his range, never turning from him or breaking eye contact as she backed away. Okuvad stepped into his dormitory without letting his captors see his frustration, using his composure as resistance. The hatch shut behind him with a thump of mag-locks engaging.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jocque Zydeco leaned against the blast doors separating his ship's cockpit from the main corridor, listening for the sound of his passenger's quarters locking. As the familiar thud reverberated through the ship, Jocque opened the blast doors to the main corridor of Hadron's Lobuli. Designed as a troop-carrying patrol ship, Hadron's Lobuli started as a prototype corvette that failed to reach commercial production. Lighter and faster than most ship's in its class, Hadron's Lobuli sported four blaster cannons and a turbolaser turret that could be crewed locally or slaved to the cockpit's targeting systems. Below decks, the space currently serving as a cargo hold would have served as quarters for a full platoon supplied for two months of operation. The current crew quarters had actually been a brig for holding captured smugglers and pirates, the present galley and medical suite intended as the security center controlling cell access and separating the prisoners' cells from the cockpit.

The Corellian Engineering Corporation intended the ship to remain in orbit around populated planets and moons, intercepting and disabling criminal vessels before they could escape the gravity well for the jump to lightspeed. Although the ship performed excellently during testing the design proved cost prohibitive. Consular-class retrofits and Gozanti-class cruisers filled the same role at a fraction of the cost and included more flexible armaments and complements. The CEC shelved the program and planned to scrap the prototype. Unwilling to see a beautiful and unique ship vanish into obscurity, Jocque and his co-conspirator stole it. The memory still caused a smile to tickle the corners of his mouth.

Employed by CEC as a structural engineer on the project, Jocque initially voiced his complained of the injustice to his friend Inchinn, a young user-interface engineer on the project. A couple drinks later, Jocque dumped his inheritance into credit chips-a little early, according to the irate message he later received from his very alive father-and absconded with the ship and his friend. Their plan, such as it was, never included an idea of what to do after that, and the two drifted through various Outer Rim spaceports dodging bounty hunters for months before realizing they were flying a smuggler's dream. Together, they stripped the crew quarters bare and converted it to a cargo hold, retrofitted the brig to serve as the new crew quarters, and upgraded an RX-series tactical droid with precision flying programs to pilot the vessel; Jocque's skill in the pilot's seat had proven barely adequate. They dubbed their new pilot D4-N1 and set into the galaxy in search of a crew.

Now Jocque was a captain. A legitimate captain. Years of illegal smuggling had built his ship and crew a profitable reputation. When the Separatists blockaded Christophsis, the Republic offered Hadron's crew full pardons to help supply the planet. The CIS blockade proved terrifyingly effective and few blockade runners survived the attempt, but Hadron's Lubuli was among them. The Jedi generals received all the public credit, not that Jocque minded. He and the crew had their pardons and a new purpose in life. Jocque even used the Republic's goodwill to pressure the CEC into officially signing over ownership of Hadron to Jocque and Inchinn.

With legitimacy came a degree of anonymity, which only made his smuggling operations easier. A smuggler in a stolen ship with a fat bounty on his head carried the burden of infamy like a holosign strapped to his back. On the other hand, a legitimately owned ship only large enough to transport a few hundred tons of cargo went largely ignored. Anyone who recognized them treated them as has-beens instead of rivals or marks, and that was just fine with Jocque. That anonymity was now at risk. An old adversary used Jocque's superficial resemblance to the Republic's missing person-a ridiculous attempt, he thought-as an excuse to drag him into custody, undoubtedly hoping to justify an inspection of Hadron's Lobuli. Jocque's hold full of weaponized BLX labor droids made that an unacceptable outcome. He was being well paid to deliver those droids to Saleucami. His benefactor purchased the droids legally through a proxy and paid Jocque 4,000 credits for each unit modified. Pardons and a legitimate business didn't mean they couldn't run some jobs on the side for extra credits.

They'd made this run twice before, scavenging battlefields for battle droid remains to upgrade the labor units. Each run required months of travel and labor, but a full hold of modified droids would net a profit just north of one million credits. Properly invested, this run would push their accounts into retirement territory. He'd put that at risk by taking on the Umbaran kid, but a person matching that description at that place at that time? Jocque did not believe in coincidence, and he needed to keep the kid close until he figured out what was happening.

Jocque passed Khadae and M'Linzi, body language declaring their concern louder than words ever could. Jocque knocked on two doors to signal the occupants inside, not bothering to wait for a response. Stelisto and Inchinn stepped out of their rooms and followed Jocque, Khadae, and M'Linzi to the ship's armory. Small arms, grenades, and a few heavy weapons lined the armory, the cluttered walls contrasting strangely with the empty table and chairs filling the center of the room. Each of the crew members took their seat with Jocque standing at the head of the long table, fists resting on its cool surface. M'Linzi very pointedly placed the captive's blaster on the table. It was an elegant weapon, one of SoroSuub Corporation's status pistols marketed to government officials, aristocracy and the like. Jocque studied the weapon a moment and asked, "Is that all?"

M'Linzi shook her head. "No, he kept something in his pocket. He didn't realize it, but when one of us stepped too close he put his hand over it protectively. No bulge, it's not a weapon. But, he values it."

A look at Khadae was all the Yarkora needed to start his brief. "Cagy and cool under pressure he was. I did not push too hard for fear he may completely shut down. He offered no name and I did not ask. Still, he revealed more than he understood. He's familiar with starships, not batting an eye at the jargon. Steady. He never flinched: not when I grabbed him, not when I loomed over him, not when I told him we were locking him in his quarters, not when M'Linzi sneaked up on him, and not when she took his blaster pistol. Recognized Rayjer as a clone trooper, even without his armor and with the cybernetics. The only slip he made, that was. I am not familiar enough with the development of his species to place an age, but he's certainly little more than a child. A young adult I could say, being generous. Only one kind of child with that knowledge and confidence do I know of." He didn't say what kind of child that was. He didn't need to. Everyone in the room knew the answer, but Jocque said it out loud to leave no doubts for anyone.

"A Jedi apprentice." The words had a visible effect on the crew. The self-proclaimed peacekeepers of the galaxy gave everyone the chills. People with reality defying powers should give a person the chills. If it didn't, it was time to lay off the spice. A Jedi on the run, not officially declared a fugitive but hunted by the Jedi nevertheless? That was outright terrifying.

"Jocque..." Khadae's voice sounded far more like disappointment than concern. "Kidnapping the boy was brazen but understandable. He looked wealthy and with good reason to pay for transport, but this? I believe no profit we will gain from this. If we run afoul of the Jedi, all our gains vanish. Our pardons, worthless."

Irritatingly, Stelisto interjected in Huttese, his favored language. Jocque knew a little, but Stelisto was fluent in Basic and refused to speak it. The Dug went on a spectacularly animated rant that Jocque caught just enough of to respond, "We're not dumping him out an airlock." Khadae was right: this was an unexpected and dangerous development. Three years war had raged between the CIS and the Republic. Jedi falling from grace wasn't unheard of, rumors of dangerous rogue Jedi was a common spacer's tale in the dark corners of cantinas all across the Outer Rim. The leader of the CIS, Count Dooku, was once a Jedi. A master according to some.

Jocque did not believe the Republic would chase a simple runaway, which meant their passenger was some sort of fallen Jedi-a traitor. He was dangerous and staying between him and the Republic was more dangerous. "We have few real choices," Jocque lamented. "We can stick with my first instinct, transporting him to a destination of his choosing. We squeeze him for whatever reward we can and hope Jedi don't catch up to skewer us with lightsabers. Or, we can turn him over to the CIS to collect their bounty on Jedi. I don't know what they'll pay for a runaway apprentice, and I figure we have even odds between success or getting killed when the CIS recognize Hadron as a Republic blockade runner. Option three keeps us alive but he probably decides we haven't done enough to earn our fee: we kick him off the ship at the first opportunity."

M'Linzi was the first to speak, calm and measured. "I have seen Jedi fighting, on Zygerria. They are dangerous but not invincible, and he has no lightsaber. You were able to subdue him easily enough with stun blasters and the element of surprise. Here, we can do the same. Open the hatch to his quarters and fill it with stun bolts, or pump gas through the ventilation system, or drop a stun grenade inside. We have no reason to fear him. He is easy prey."

Stelisto and Khadae nodded agreement with her, but Inchinn remained silent. The Givin often preferred to observe at length and share his opinion in private with Jocque after, and his insight was ever valuable. There were few as naturally gifted for analyzing information than a Givin, and the few times Inchinn chose to speak up had never steered the crew wrong. "Inchinn, friend. I need to know your mind on this."

Inchinn's pale-white exoskeleton made his expressions impossible to read, a problem Inchinn was well aware of. He overcompensated with exaggerated-and unintentionally comical-gesturing when he needed to give his words extra weight. Now, he shook his head in wide dramatic arcs and held up the palms of his hands. "I have nothing useful to add. The Republic's HoloNet transmission gave a very basic description and only called him a missing person. We can't be sure our passenger is even who they look for, and we have no idea why their missing person is important. He could be a runaway or he could be the next Count Dooku, who can know? None of our options guarantee a profitable outcome, so we need to distance ourselves from him as soon as possible."

Jocque nodded. "D4-N1's assessment agrees. The droid set a course for Eriadu and advised we force the passenger to depart there. After that, Dani has a series of jumps set for us along the Hydian Way to Brentaal, where we'll continue on the Perlemian Trade Route to the Mid Rim. We'll have to leave the major lanes to reach Saleucami. Until then, we blend in with the regular trade flow, just a small-time freighter shipping labor droids. That's 100,000 credits from our benefactor guaranteed just for making the attempt. I followed my gut and took a chance, but I made a mistake. I've put our profit and lives at risk and first chance we correct course."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Okuvad assumed the crew locked him in his quarters so they could assess his security risk and potential for profit. The Yarkora and Zygerrian had studied and tested him from the instant he woke. The Yarkora's apparent friendliness and the Zygerrian's security concerns simply justifications to poke and prod him. The clone had been the surprise, and he knew the Yarkora labeled and filed his reaction to that. He didn't care. He'd escaped Utapau. Okuvad should have no problem disappearing into obscurity, just another drifter in a galaxy full of billions of drifters.

He sat on his cot, studying the clone and anticipating the crew's judgement. The clone had yet to speak to or look at Okuvad. He had only stared into his hands, first looking into the palms then slowly turning the prostheses over and flexing his fingers. He repeated the process over and over, his face showing no reaction or emotion. Okuvad watched this process for nearly a dozen iterations, wondering what it meant. When he could no longer fight his curiosity, he spoke. "Do they hurt?"

"No." Okuvad had only been around clones a matter of days before fleeing with Lai Stree. He remembered the clones speaking with authority, vigor, and confidence. They were the most well-trained, well-equipped army in the galaxy and knew it. This clone had none of that. His voice conveyed defeat and little else. "I feel no pain. My arms, my legs," he said quietly, "nothing. Only cold."

"How is it you're here, on this ship instead of a Republic medical frigate?"

The clone let his hands rest in his lap and looked up for the first time. His eyes were empty, seeming to look through Okuvad and ship to stare into the void beyond. The clone's ruined body may not feel pain, but something pained him more than he could bear. He continued to stare into the abyss as he spoke in a voice saturated with despair. "On Felucia, the droids broke our line. We ran. Ran until our lungs burned and our legs felt like Sarkanian jelly. The droids dug in behind us, outflanked us somehow. We reached the rally point and found nothing but dead and dying brothers. We tried to help the wounded. The Separatists had buried mines all around them."

The clone's cybernetics hummed slightly, servos vibrating."I can't blame anyone for leaving me. There must have been pieces of me all over, and who would think a person could survive this?" The clone indicated his ruined body with a wave of a cybernetic hand. "I don't know how I survived, nothing more than a ruined torso and head buried in the jungle. Jocque and his crew came in stealth that night, scavenging equipment. They refused to let me die, and even now work tirelessly to keep my remains alive."

Okuvad continued to study the clone, fixated by morbid curiosity. "You sound like you regret them saving you."

The clone shrugged, an odd gesture from his mechanical arms. "I was bred for war. What purpose do I serve now?" The clone began to touch individual cybernetics installed into his body. "Artificial heart, toxin filtration, oxygenators augmenting my damaged lungs. I can only eat specially formulated nutrition cubes, and any waste my body produces gets stored in a canister I empty and clean by hand. What flesh I have left can't maintain a proper body temperature so my blood runs through a temperature control unit. I sleep on an inductive charging unit like some kind of kriffing droid and relive Felucia everytime I close my eyes. Death would be a kindness, but that pink psychotic won't allow it. Everyday she tinkers on me like some hobbyist on a pet project."

Okuvad did not ask any more questions. The two sat in silence. Okuvad relaxed his body in meditation and opened himself to the Force, reaching out to find the thoughts of the clone. He expected a barrage of emotions: pain, fear, rage, despair. He found nothing, an icy cavern void of humanity. He jerked himself away from the clone's mind, recoiling on instinct. The clone was truly broken. For Okuvad, who felt such a symbiotic relationship with the Living Force, the mind of the clone was a frightening experience.

Okuvad's emotions reeled dangerously, and he sought meditation to center himself. Okuvad sank into his bunk and set his mind adrift. His meditations usually submerged him in a formless torrent of energy, sweeping away his consciousness. Now something was different. He felt as though he floated somewhere far above the galactic plane. He could see minute balls of light swarming through throughout the galaxy, the essence of every living thing connected to the Force. He could see intense clusters of light on every planet of the Republic, Separatists, and neutral systems. He could see into the Unknown Regions. Fear washed over him as something terrible stirred there, too aware of his attention.

Okuvad could feel the emotions of the galaxy's sentients: joy and hope, love and sorrow, anger and hate. With every passing breath he felt one emotion in particular. One emotion that seemed to grow and swell as though it wished to smother the others. Fear. Fear infected the galaxy, a disease that enfeebled mind and spirit seeping into the very essence of the Force. He realized what he experienced could never be understood by the lives within the galaxy. Their image of the whole obscured by the brightness and turmoil of the immediate. Then Okuvad sensed he was not alone, and the awareness stirred his own fear. Another presence existed in the place beyond. Something-or someone-else could see what he saw and knew what he knew. He reached for the presence, delicately probing for thoughts and feelings as he had with the clone. For a single brief instant he touched the mind of the presence and it waiting for something pivotal.

It felt him! Panic gripped Okuvad. A will of untold magnitude enveloped him. Okuvad struggled to open his eyes and wake from his meditation, but the indomitable will held him solid. The presence mocked him and reveled in Okuvad's weakness. This creature of darkness cackled in delight as it toyed with him. Then he was free. Okuvad felt a release and rush as though he fell from a great height. His eyes snapped open and found the staring eyes of the clone.

"I have watched a dozen Jedi Generals and Commanders meditate, Padawan."

Okuvad shook his head, "I am no padawan."

The clone snorted and lie down in his bunk, eyes on the ceiling. "That is a lie. A to me or you lie to yourself." After a brief pause the clone added confidently, "You are Jedi."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Jocque settled into his seat at the copilot's station. Beside him, D4-N1 waited placidly at the pilot's controls. The screens in front of D4-N1 were blank. The droid communicated directly to ship sensors and communications via a computer interface arm connected to a dataport. According to D4-N1, the droid couldn't fly the ship through the connection because the flight and combat systems ran on a separate network, a security feature to prevent slicers or corrupt code from affecting navigation. Neither Jocque or Inchinn worked on development of the navigation or flight control systems and wisely chose to leave the system as is instead of modifying unfamiliar systems for the droid's benefit. In spite of the limitation of manual navigation, D4-N1's periods of activity were so infrequent Joque found it easy to think of the droid as a fixed feature, just one more piece of equipment. The basic design of the RX-series-a simple cylinder with three unremarkable appendages and a pair of photoreceptors mounted to a rotating rod-made the assumption easy. When D4-N1 moved to manipulate the controls, the unexpected motion startled Jocque.

" _ _Jumpy, Captain? If you would like, I may consider initiating a verbal warning before I move.__ "

"I don't think that will be necessary, Dani."

" _ _Good decision. After considering the warning I determined my preference for frightening you, and I'm glad we agree on not performing the procedure.__ " The droid's arms moved precisely and adeptly through the controls. Jocque and Inchinn had replaced one of the droids three claws with a vaguely humanoid hand to aid with interface systems requiring a more delicate touch. " _ _We're preparing to exit hyperspace now, Captain. We're at least one standard hour from the planet using sublight engines. Because of the rushed calculations I determined it best to not risk exiting too close to the planet's gravity well.__ "

The blue swirling haze of hyperspace gave way to streaks of stars and a planet and moon system rapidly growing in the viewport. D4-N1 hadn't joked about staying outside the planet's gravity well. Once Hadron's Lobuli finished the transition to real space, the planet and moon were nearly half the size Jocque expected. D4-N1's assessment of a standard hour to arrival was on the short side. Jocque guessed two was more accurate. "Take us in nice and easy, Dani. We're in no hurry. Tell the docking authority we want a berth on an orbital refueling station providing orbit-to-surface shuttle service."

" _ _Aye, aye, Captain.__ "

Jocque left the cockpit, his mind on the controversy of his newest passenger. Even kicking the kid off the ship could cause problems, as he may risk contacting the authorities in retaliation against the crew for essentially kidnapping him. Jocque thought it unlikely-the kid didn't seem the spiteful type-but he had to weigh the possibility. Three hatches past the galley Jocque found the quarters he needed. Three hard knocks warned the occupant of his presence before he used his captain's override on the door's exterior control panel; the door opened with whine of servos and rapid whoosh of air. "Stelisto, you're on copilot duty until we're docked." Jocque didn't bother waiting for a response. At the table the crew was a democracy, everyone voiced their opinion and a vote set their course. With an operation underway Jocque's word was law and obeyed without question. Questions and hesitation killed crews.

He repeated his knock-and-enter routine on the quarters across the corridor. The door opened on the ghastly appearance of a barely dressed Inchinn sitting at his personal computer station. The young engineer's skeleton-esque flesh kept his posture stiff, his arms and legs awkwardly sticking out in front of him like a puppet with slack in its strings. Jocque noticed he had his computer station interfaced with the minicomputer he used for slicing, likely adding new or upgraded programs for later use. The Givin didn't bother turning around. He simply asked, "What do you need?"

"My friend, I need you tapped into the HoloNet while we're on approach. We have some time before we dock so feel free to finish your business, but I need to know how bad I've stepped in it. See what you can find regarding our young passenger: why they're looking for him, what they know about our involvement, anything you can find." Inchinn didn't respond, never one for conversation. Jocque didn't take it personally. Inchinn was never happier than when he was alone in silence, shunning the company of anyone other than Jocque unless business required otherwise.

Jocque turned on his heel and made for the armory. Khadae and M'Linzi had been spending a suspicious amount of time there, alone and beyond eavesdropping range of the galley and crew quarters. Jocque gave them a gracious amount of time between his knocks and entering the room. M'Linzi busied herslef vigorously inspecting a blaster rifle while Khadae sat across the table from her, his massive feet casually propped on the table and his hands behind his head. Environmental controls kept the armory the coolest compartment on the ship to prevent corrosion on the weapons and armor. In spite of that, the room was heavy with musk and heat radiated from the two crewmembers. Jocque thought his wait-to-enter policy exceptionally wise.

"Khadae, M'Linzi." He and they exchanged small, polite nods as he addressed them. "We're on approach to Eriadu. M'Linzi, I want you to have your electro-whip ready. I don't expect trouble, but when we try to escort our passenger off ship he may stupidly decide to cause exactly that."

The Zygerrian nodded her head in approval, "Better prepared than caught unaware."

Khadae's grumbling voice filled the room, "Shore leave, Captain?"

"Not here, my friend. The Eriadu have no fondness for non-humans. We'll fuel, allow our passenger to leave, then continue on our way," he said, a wave of his hand indicating a hope for their way to be far from here. The Yarkora's already large nostrils widen into caverns as he snorted his disappointment. At two meters tall and over 100 kilograms, Khadae towered over the crew and carried at least 30 kilograms more mass than anyone else. A ship designed for a primarily human crew made a claustrophobic home for the Yarkora, and Jocque could expect to hear him grumbling for days about how he couldn't stretch his legs and how stooping for the low ceilings hurt his back. With that thought, Jocque decided to retreat. He had important matters to discuss with Du and little interest in wasting time. Only a few steps from the armory he turned back on a whim. He stepped through the hatch and increased the compartment's airflow on the climate control panel, sparing a pointed look for the room's occupants before shutting the hatch and continuing on his way.

Jocque's determined stride took him quickly to the medical suite. He always saved Du for last when he did his rounds. Talking with her left him off-balance and unable to remember exactly who else he should talk to and what about. Zeltrons seemed to have that effect on everyone. Du claimed her species produced pheromones that stimulated the pleasure centers of most humanoid species. Jocque once heard a rumor the Zeltrons were telepathic and forced positive feelings onto others as a defense reflex. He didn't know which to believe or if he should believe either. Du maintained a well-stocked medical suite, with shelves and coolers filled with pharmaceuticals. For all Jocque knew, she was drugging him into compliance. He could care less about the cause, only the effect.

He found the hatch to the medical suite open as usual and was not surprised to discover Rayjer on Du's table. A number of sensor readouts filled Du's screens, and she bounced with nervous energy as she studiously ran her eyes over the data. Rayjer sat in disturbing contrast to the Zeltron. He never moved a millimeter and stared into some point in space so far away they'd have to jump to lightspeed to find it. Rayjer scared Jocque. During the war, horror stories had spread through every spaceport and cantina. Stories about an army of the dead rising against the Republic and Jedi somewhere in the Outer Rim. Jocque never believed the tales, but he could imagine what that would be like. The darkest of those fantasies fell short of Rayjer: body void of its own will, animated beyond death through terrible means. In the field, the crew had universally gone into shock upon discovering the shredded shell of a man still lived. Fighting to save another's life comes naturally, an instinct bred into almost every sentient species. Jocque had given Du free stick and every resource he could scrounge up as she plied her skill toward keeping him alive. In hindsight, a blaster bolt to the head would have been more kind. Jocque never realized he instinctively skirted the edges of the room to get to Du, as far from the clone as the space allowed.

Du sensed his presence before Jocque neared her side. "I think the gene therapy is working. I've finally isolated the changes they made to speed up the clones' growth rates. A few more treatments and Rayjer can expect a normal human lifespan."

"Du…" The Zeltron rounded on him with a wild look in her eye. She had always been sensitive and felt more deeply than the rest of the crew. She'd retired from her position on a Republic medical frigate for that very reason, unable to live with the constant exposure to mangled soldiers. Jocque knew that's where her obsession with saving Rayjer came from. He could understand it, but he wasn't sure he could continue to condone it. Du had eyes like a trapped animal, cornered and frightened and looking to dart away but unable to find an out. "Du…" Jocque put his hands on her shoulders and her eyes welled up with tears.

"He's going to be OK," she said as she collapsed into Jocque's arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. Jocque held her for some time before she was able to steady herself. Rayjer never reacted or moved at all. Once her feet were under her again, Du wiped the tears from her cheeks and asked, "What can I do for you?" And, that was it. The sensitive Zeltron disappeared behind the mask of the cool doctor.

Jocque took one of her hands in his. "I want you to prepare a quick injection sedative. Something strong and fast acting." The door to the medical suite was open so he didn't say why, but he led her gaze across the corridor to the open refresher door. Their young passenger was inside, staring into a mirror. He'd washed his disguise off and now Jocque could see the blue-grey Umbaran skin he'd expected under the paint. The kid was running a hand over shale stubble sprouting from his scalp. Most Umbarans shaved their heads for some reason lost on Jocque. On the run, the boy hadn't shaved his head since boarding Hadron. H looked lost, staring into his reflection searching for some sort of truth or secret. He didn't find it. A sigh heavy with sadness and resignation signaled the boy's surrender in his existential quest. He left the refresher with his head down, never seeing Jocque watching him. The trimmer he'd requested for shaving his head remained in the refresher, unused.

Jocque left Du to her work, heavy steps and a hard right turn at the hatch quickly taking him to the cockpit. The cockpit hatch opened to a string of Huttese expletives streaming from Stelisto as D4-N1 pointed to something on the ship's sensor display. Anytime D4-N1 powered up the displays bad news followed. The droid didn't waste anyone's time with mundane matters. Jocque summoned his best command voice, "Status update." Stelisto gave an aggravated wave of his hand and barked something in Huttese as he vacated the copilot's chair. Jocque slid into his station, never taking his eyes off the screen as D4-N1 started to brief him on the situation.

" _ _Captain, my tactical subroutines indicate we are flying into a trap.__ "

Jocque's eyes swept over the sensor readouts but failed to see whatever the droid thought was going on. "You're going to have to help me, Dani. I'm not seeing anything special."

D4-N1 freed two arms to point at the sensor readouts and the viewport. " _ _See that ship? It's a Republic vessel; a Venator-class Star Destroyer.__ "

Jocque shook his head, "Dani, don't be paranoid. Eriadu is an important planet. The Republic would want to keep a strong defensive power in the area. Plus, the sensors are showing it in geosynchronous orbit, same as the refueling stations. They're not moving to intercept."

" _ _I know, Captain, but look,__ " he said, pointing again. Jocque shook his head, still not understanding. " _ _Those two ships, escort frigates by the size of them. Their transponders indicate they're part of the Outlands Regional Security Force.__ "

Exasperated, Jocque raised his voice. "And, still not moving to intercept. According to the trajectories you're showing me, they're moving well offline from us."

" _ _The position of the station and the moon, Captain.__ "

"By the stars, Dani! Just tell me what you see." Jocque's fingers flexed. If the droid had required air Jocque would throttle him.

" _ _Captain, I don't understand how you organics ever hope to defeat the droid army with such inadequate brains. Watch the projections on the monitor__." Suddenly extra trajectories appeared on the display. The symbols indicating ships, stations, and celestial bodies sped up. " _ _This is our trajectory to the station. Here, here, and here are the station, the Star Destroyer, and the escort frigates. The course they set for us approaching the orbital station, the Star Destroyer's orbit, and the vectors of the escort frigates are all on a plane that bisects the center of mass for both the planet and the moon. As we continue our approach to the refueling station,__ " the droid didn't finish the sentence. Instead, the predicted trajectories finished tracing their routes. That's when Jocque saw the trap: as Hadron continued her approach to the refueling station, the Star Destroyer and escort ships moved into position behind her. By the time Hadron would finish refueling all three of the ships would be within tractor beam range, the mass shadows of the planet and moon preventing an escape to hyperspace. To jump to hyperspace they'd have to fly straight at the intercepting vessels, or they'd have to take the long route past the planet risking the three vessels catching them or encountering more ships hidden beyond the horizon.

Jocque came to his feet and ordered, "Stay on course." He paced a short path between the bulkheads of the cockpit, a trip no more than a few paces either direction. Thoughts cycled through his head like blaster fire. The Republic wouldn't orchestrate a trap like this for Jocque blasting his way out of a cantina, especially using stun blasters only. Though technically illegal, Jocque's cargo was funded by a Republic senator and destined for a good cause. The Republic had no reason to move against the ship's operation. That left his passenger as the cause and even that failed to make sense. Deploying a star destroyer was a huge escalation from the Republic's efforts to find him on Utapau. Jocque's chance on easy money had dropped him and the crew into a hot pot, and he couldn't figure out what was cooking. When the cockpit hatch swooshed open to reveal Inchinn still in his underpants and carrying his minicomputer, Jocque wasn't surprised. "Let me guess: bad news."

Inchinn shrugged rigidly. "Don't know. Unusual, though." He turned his computer so Jocque could see the screen. "The HoloNet is down, not a single public data stream in the whole system. Even the automated system for updating hyperspace coordinates is offline. The only thing I'm picking up is encrypted military stuff, which I haven't deciphered yet."

Jocque pointed at the copilot's chair. "Patch comms into the main sensor dish instead of the antenna. I want you to pinpoint where those signals are coming from." Inchinn awkwardly moved his pale stiff-limbed frame into the chair and diligently set himself to the task. He didn't bother determining which signals came from where, instead spinning the sensor array in one quick circle and watching signal strength peak and dip.

"Captain, encrypted messages from there," he said pointing to the escort frigates, "there, there, and there." He pointed to the orbital station, the Star Destroyer, and Eriadu's moon.

Jocque turned to D4-N1. "Does Eriadu have military installations on its moon?" Before D4-N1 could answer, Inchinn spoke up.

"The readings aren't on the moon. They're here, just to the far side from us." With everything they could see Jocque knew that could only mean one thing: ships under minimum power waiting in space, another force cutting off a route of escape.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Freshly bathed and dressed, Okuvad sat cross-legged on his bunk meditating on his predicament. He assumed the captain intended to force him off the ship when they reached their destination. Apprehension and fear radiated from the Duros as he paced the cockpit only meters away. To the crew, Okuvad was still an unknown factor. The Yarkora's sharp eyes and mind had likely picked Okuvad out as some sort of Jedi. The clone certainly had. The captain must fear Okuvad's retribution. The war between Count Dooku and the Jedi had seared a fear of Force wielders into the minds of everyone in the galaxy. Violence and retaliation were not Okuvad's way, and he regretted not having the resources to pay the crew as promised. Even if they forced him off the ship at their next port he had escaped Utapau as desired. Still, they deserved some reward for their help. He knew the ship and captain's names. When he could access his accounts again, Okuvad would make his payment.

Then he felt it: a slight disturbance in the Force. Aggression. Somewhere nearby a person, maybe more than one, had just resigned themselves to killing Okuvad and felt completely justified in the action. Okuvad's eyes popped open and he leapt to his feet before he the decision to move even entered his thoughts. A brush of the Force opened the compartment's hatch as he sprinted for the cockpit, thankfully open instead of locked down as he'd come to expect. The droid pilot diligently operated the flight systems, but the captain and his skeletal friend were both staring mournfully into the displays of the copilot's station. Okuvad's fast approaching steps startled them and both jerked toward him defensively.

Okuvad blurted, "They're going to kill us!"

To his surprise, the captain nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he said. "I think you're right."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The young Jedi confirmed what Jocque already expected. He didn't understand why but the trap set for them was more than a simple net. This was an ambush. "Dani, open a comm channel and hail the bridge of that Star Destroyer. Starting plotting a course for a hyperspace jump from the other side of the planet, directly opposite the moon. Take the Nothoiin Corridor trailward toward the Unknown Regions. The further from civilization the better."

The bridge of the Star Destroyer opened their end of the comm almost instantly, Hadron's viewscreen filling with the image of a stiff-backed officer in a short collared olive uniform. A middle-aged human-judging from the gray streaks in his hair-wearing the rank indicators of a Republic Navy captain and a stuffy sort of bearing as though everything he looked at left him a touch nauseous. Even miniaturized on the view screen he managed to look down his nose at the crew. Jocque pegged him for the kind to lord his authority over everyone getting the first and the last word in, so he took that from the self-righteous prat. "Lieutenant, we're a peaceful freighter on assignment for the Republic Senate. Why do my sensors show a large Republic force positioned to attack my ship?"

The officer's mouth seemed to twist as though he were trying to hold back the urge to vomit as he spoke. "Pilot-"

"Captain," Jocque interrupted. From the way the captain's back snapped even straighter and his sour face puckered just a fraction more, Jocque thought the man might actually vomit.

"Captain," the officer managed. "There is nothing of the sort. These are necessary wartime precautions. Continue on your way," and with that he cut the channel.

"Uh huh, and I'm a Hutt's uncle," Jocque said to no one in particular. "Dani, maintain our course. When we get into position to initiate docking protocols, take us to full throttle and aim for the planet's horizon. We'll use its gravity to slingshot to our jump point while they scramble to follow"-Jocque clapped his hands and slid one forward rapidly to point out the cockpit-"make the jump to hyperspace before they catch up." Jocque slammed his hand down on the big red button in the middle of the console, red lights and alarm sounding throughout the ship. Jocque keyed the ship-wide comlink, "All hands crew your battlestations. This is not a drill. I repeat: all hands crew your battlestations, this is not a drill!"

The crew knew their positions. Inchinn fled the cockpit, hustling to his assigned turbo blaster along the ship's fuselage. Khadae, Stelisto, and M'Linzi would crew the others while Hadron's turbolaser turret above the cockpit would fall under Jocque's control at the copilot's chair. In the unlikely event that anyone ever caught Hadron's Lobuli and inflicted damage on her, Du would be prepping the medical suite to receive casualties. Rayjer was not an official crewmember and would remain in his quarters. Jocque's young passenger was the only anomaly. Jocque fixed the young Jedi with his most severe look, "Stand there or return to your quarters. I don't care which as long as you're not in our way."

Hadron's Lobuli continued the approach vector while Jocque started the shuttle's boot sequence remotely. "Dani, rotate us 60 degrees starboard. Show that station our belly as we fly by, I have something special planned for them." The next few moments stretched into tense eternity. Hadron and her crew's fate balanced precariously between escape and destruction. Jocque always kept the inertial compensators dialed a few tenths of a percent short of 100%, enjoying to feel the ship's acceleration and deceleration. He felt exactly that when the instructions to initiate docking procedures came across the comms and D4-N1 maxed out Hadron's sublight engines. He only waited a second, maybe two, knowing the docking crew would need to recover from their surprise. Jocque's instinct served him well. With a push of a button he released Hadron's shuttle from her docking clamps as the station engaged their tractor beam in a feeble attempt to capture Hadron's Lobuli. The tractor beam caught the shuttle instead, its autopilot set to fly directly at the station. The docking crew panicked and killed the tractor beam. Turret fire from the docking bay quickly engaged the shuttle. The light craft stood no chance against their defenses and exploded in a azure flash, but the shuttle's momentum sent fiery debris streaking into the station. The result would have been deadly on a hangar, but the refueling stations used clamps and airlocks. Jocque expected the clamps, external airlock, and tractor beam all received damage.

Jocque couldn't contain his excitement that the maneuver worked. "Ha!" he yelled, looking left through the bulkhead toward the duped docking crew. He knew his ship would be well out of range by the time the docking station could bring another tractor beam online. "Dani, how are those sensors looking?"

" _ _A group of fighters have appeared from the vicinity of the moon, Captain. They're too slow to catch us. The Star Destroyer has launched a squadron of something faster. They will intercept us before we can complete our course around the planet and jump to hyperspace.__ "

"Well, that's just great," Jocque muttered. He keyed the ship-wide comlink. "Fighters inbound. Do not fire until fired upon. I repeat, do NOT fire until fired upon," ordered Jocque, emphasizing the negative for Stelisto's sake. The Dug tended toward trigger happiness. If they were really lucky and Stelisto didn't start a firefight the Republic's own rules of engagement might save their hides.

He wasn't feeling lucky. For a long tortuous minute, everything seemed normal. Once past the orbital station the only thing outside the cockpit was the planet and a field of stars. Hadron ran fast and smooth as ever. Jocque silenced the ship's general alarm leaving a gentle hum of equipment and the calm breathing of his passenger the only sound in the cockpit. One minute of quiet. One minute of peace.

The moment shattered as M'Linzi came over the comms system. "Captain, V-wings inbound!" Flashes of light, impact tremors, and cockpit alarms punctuated her announcement. D4-N1 reacted to the incoming fire instantly, the droid's upgraded programming and processors calculating hundreds of factors to determine the best vector for the ship to avoid incoming fire, the best orientation to maximize the crew's angles of fire, and establishing the correct deflector shield angle to minimize damage to the ship. The starfighter pilots quickly realized Hadron had a blind spot directly behind her, where the bulk of the sublight engines blocked the line of fire from the blaster cannons. The result was an intricate dance between D4-N1 and the starfighters as the droid pitched and yawed Hadron to provide the crew firing opportunities while the starfighters desperately fought to stay in her blind spot.

Jocque keyed the ship-wide comm. "Screening fire only!" he barked. "No kill shots. Keep them evasive but alive."

" _ _Captain, my combat projections show these maneuvers have slowed us enough the second wave of fighters will now catch us. Evasive maneuvers sufficient to avoid incoming fire will reduce our speed further.__ "

"Copy that, Dani. We can't outrun them?"

" _ _No, Captain. The Nimbus-class interceptors will easily keep pace with us.__ "

Jocque slammed his fist on the console and quickly jumped to his feet. "Kid, keep my seat warm. The turret is automatic. You select a target, the computer aims and fires. Leave the fighters alone but if something bigger shows up give them something to think about. Dani, start shutting down all non-essential systems. Use the extra power to keep the shields up. I'm going to override the safeties on the sublight engines."

Jocque sprang toward the cockpit hatch prepared to sprint the length of the ship to the engine compartment, but when the hatch opened Rayjer nearly ran him over. The clone caught Jocque in his mechanical hands, taking Jocque off his feet and throwing him several meters to slam against the back of the copilot's chair. Spittle flew from the clone's lips as he screamed, "My brothers! Your crew is firing on my brothers!" Mechanical fists balled and raised; Jocque threw his arms across his face in what he knew an inadequate defense against the cybernetic clone. A child's delicate hands appeared on either side of Jocque's face, palms toward Rayjer and fingers splayed. The clone's eyes flickered from rage to shock as his feet lifted from the ground and something unseen propelled him down the corridor, his metallic backside and torso throwing sparks and producing an ear-piercing screech as he landed on deck sliding a dozen meters or more.

Jocque's young passenger stepped over him and stood between the cockpit and the corridor, feet apart and hands held in front of him. The scrawny child standing up to the mechanical monster should have been a laughable concept, but the set of the kid's shoulders showed no fear and absolute confidence. Jocque had been the first to say it but had not fully believed until now: the boy was Jedi. Looking past the apprentice, Jocque watched the clone steadily rise from the deck. One hand flickered and a pronounced click-clack sound from the corridor. Jocque warned the young Jedi, "His feet magnetize, like a droid. You won't be able to throw him again."

The boy didn't seem to acknowledge Jocque's warning, instead speaking directly to the clone. "Rayjer, calm down. I don't want to hurt you." Jocque did not know what powers a Jedi possessed or what the boy planned. He wasn't sure if what he saw was even real. Suddenly static crawled across his skin and a whiff of ozone drifted through the cockpit. He felt as though he would see energy congealing around the Jedi, if only he knew how to look. Slow, heavy steps approached from the corridor and the boy repeated his warning. "Please! Stop." The clone moved closer and closer, one plodding step after another unphased by the Jedi's warning. When he was only a few steps away, Jocque feared the Jedi had bluffed. The apprentice's limited training had failed them and he had no more tricks up his sleeve.

Du flew from the medical suite with an incredible speed and grace, her injector catching Rayjer in the neck just below his ear, one of the few areas of exposed flesh on his body. The effect was immediate, the clone's eyes growing heavy and his mouth slack. Du shot a look at the two men in the cockpit and ordered, "Stop staring and help me get him on my table! If I don't deactivate his tox-filters he'll recover in moments."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Even the three working together couldn't move the clone's weight, his mechanical body carrying far more mass than he would as a whole person. For a moment, Jocque feared the clone would wake while they still struggled to move his body, the three of them trapped within reach of his mechanical hands and their crushing strength. However, when their combined strength proved insufficient, the young Jedi took a step back and raised a single hand. Rayjer lifted gently into the air, floating as though carried by unseen behemoths then falling gently onto the lone bed of the medical suite.

Jocque had never seen a Jedi before, let alone witnessed their power. Stories of Jedi laying waste to entire droid armies, moving things with their minds, and controlling the thoughts of others followed in their wake. Mystic supersoldiers were a common myth across thousands of worlds. The overwhelming abundance of stories but scarcity of evidence had led Jocque to conclude long ago the Jedi were more charlatan than hero, using physical skills and psychological manipulation to con those with weak minds. Seeing a Jedi standing over him using the Force to fling more than 100 kilos of flesh and alloys challenged Jocque's understanding of the universe. In spite of the pressing issue of the Republic attack, he couldn't help but stare in shock. He only came to his senses when a violent tremor ran through the ship.

" _ _Captain, the deflector shield can not handle this volume of fire. Expedite the safety override.__ "

D4-N1's annoyingly calm voice jarred Jacque back to his mission. He wasn't much of an athlete, but Jocque pushed himself to his limits as he sprinted to the engine compartment. He only had one trick remaining that might save them, a lucky quirk of Hadron's design. As a prototype ship, the propulsion engineers integrated circuitry in Hadron's sublight drives limiting power to 85% of maximum thrust. Although her sublight engines were already in use on other CEC-designed starships, Hadron had a unique configuration strapping a propulsion system surpassing the C70 frigate's output onto a ship with significantly less mass. That made her fast but also short on space for an adequate cooling system. The safety limit prevented engine output from exceeding the ship's cooling capacity while the manual override allowed the ship to achieve full engine output for short durations during testing, assuming a full crew was available to monitor systems and throttle back when temperatures hit a critical point. Jocque didn't care about the throttling down part.

After the struggle with Rayjer and compared with the danger of their pursuit, disengaging the safety overrides was an anticlimactic affair. The engineers had installed two parallel sets of circuitry in the sublight control system, one with a governor limiting propulsion to 85% and one without. A simple switch deactivated one circuit and activated the other. Jocque flipped the switch, the secondary circuit engaging with a satisfying click and hum of power. D4-N1 already had Hadron at full throttle and the effect of switching control circuits was immediate, the sensation of acceleration that slipped past the inertial compensators increasing with a jolt. Jocque keyed his comm, "Dani, I cut the anchor! Get us the hell out of here!"

D4-N1 wasted no time with reassessing the situation. " _ _Captain, the V-wings are keeping pace. We cannot continue combat maneuvers and escape.__ "

"Then stop combat maneuvers! Divert all spare power to the rear deflector shield." He didn't say it, but Jocque thought they should all pray that deflector shield held. If the V-wings could keep pace they would have an easy time targeting Hadron. The moment any of their laser fire penetrated the shields Hadron's engines would bear the full brunt of their attack and she would come to a sudden and spectacular end. Jocque didn't have high hopes, and another transmission from D4-N1 eroded them further.

" _ _Captain, we have three standard minutes until the jump to hyperspace. My calculations indicate the heat generation of the sublight engines will exceed the cooling system's maximum capacity by 21.87%. The heat transfer shells will reach a critical failure point at 14.05% past maximum capacity. The ship will explode before we clear the gravity well.__ "

"Blast!" Jocque slammed his fist into the nearest bulkhead, feelings of hopelessness pressing in against the edges of his mind. Jocque was smart. Everyone that worked on Hadron's development was the best talent CEC could get their hands on, but propulsion was not his area of expertise. The day-to-day maintenance and repair of Hadron's propulsion systems fell to an R2-series astromech and several less sophisticated maintenance droids. They kept the ship's propulsion system operating within the ship's original specifications, but now Jocque wished he had a sentient technician. He needed a quick and creative solution to bring down the cooling system's temperature. __Think!__ Jocque demanded himself. __Heat transfer is basic stuff. It shouldn't take a genius to figure out how to supplement the cooling system__. He banged his fist against the bulkhead again, then again, and again. Every shudder of incoming fire on the deflector shield a painful reminder that their clock was quickly running out. A gentle and concerned boop from behind him prompted Jocque to look over his shoulder where his R2 unit sat behind him.

Suddenly, his own words from mere minutes before came rushing back to him: his feet magnetize like a droid. The solution hit him harder than Rayjer had. He was thinking like an engineer trying to fix the ship when he should have been thinking more like D4-N1 and trying to outmaneuver the enemy. "Dani! Reduce speed to match the coolant system's maximum capacity." Luckily, the engineering control room included a console that could tap into all ship-wide systems, a contingency that allowed the ship to be operated from the control room should the cockpit become compromised. He entered his access code and opened a comm channel to the ship's cargo hold.

A few computer commands and a barked order later, rank after rank of BLX labor droids engaged their magnetic feet and dutifully marched off the ship's rear cargo ramp onto the hull of the ship. Anywhere else in the galaxy a small army of labor droids wouldn't mean much, but the droids on Jocque's ship were far from ordinary. After months of scavenging battlefields for parts, he and Inchinn had upgraded each with wrist-mounted blaster cannons, rocket launchers, and programming scavenged from fallen B2 units. From the cargo ramp the droids took position on the rear section of the ship, using their magnetized feet to hold tight to Hadron's hull. In moments, the V-wings' safe zone aft of Hadron's engines filled with plasma bolts and rockets. The droid's blasters couldn't match the power of Hadron's turrets, but their numbers more than made up any lack of power. Seconds later, the V-wings were taking evasive action and breaking off pursuit.

Tense moments passed as Jocque waited to see if his gamble worked. The presence of the V-wings had one positive effect: the Star Destroyer withheld fire for fear of endangering their own pilots. Now that deterrent was gone and Jocque hoped Hadron was either too close to the planet or too far from the Star Destroyer for its batteries. He counted slowly to sixty and no impact tremors ran through the ship; no warnings of incoming fire came from D4-N1. Jocque ordered the BLX units to return to the cargo hold and restarted his count. Before reaching 60 a second time, a slight sensation of acceleration passed through the ship and D4-N1 made the announcement of a successful jump to hyperspace. Jocque collapsed to the ground: back against the bulkhead, knees to his chest, hands shaking. Close calls and the occasional fight wasn't uncommon for a smuggling crew, but skirmishes with pirates failed to compare with an attack by Republic capital ships. Jocque had never come so close to losing it all, to all of them losing it all. He didn't know how long the panic held him there, but when his feet were under him again a new emotion caught him in its grasp: fury.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

For more than a decade Jocque and Inchinn had flown Hadron's Lobuli, as outlaws and until the Republic called for blockade runners. In spite of the well maintained armory the crew maintained, Jocque never allowed anyone to carry anything but stun blasters. He believed in being prepared, but they were smugglers not killers. That time had passed. A press of Jocque's hand disengaged the biometric seals on his private locker in the armory. A wide black baldric hung from a hook inside that he slung over his right shoulder to hang on his left. The baldric held two holsters for pistols, one across his abdomen and another that hung down the outside of his left thigh. Next came his pistols, a pair of LL-30s that M'Linzi had kindly modified by replacing the complex targeting scopes with simple holographic sights.

Jocque's steps were heavy, the click-clack of his hard-soled boots echoing from the bulkheads with each footfall. He measured each step carefully, coming to a stop at the spot where Rayjer's slide had ended. He pulled his pistols and waited. He knew nothing of the Force except the spacer's tales and myths. He could only hope there was some sort of range limit, that Rayjer's stopping point represented the reach of the Jedi's power from the cockpit. Jocque fixed his eyes on the cockpit hatch, pistols leveled.

He was vaguely aware the others moved about the ship. Upon entering hyperspace they would have left the turrets for the galley, joining together to celebrate their escape. M'Linzi saw him first, a quick signal sending Khadae and Inchinn scurrying for their quarters. Stelisto and M'Linzi hurried past Jocque toward the armory. Before joining Jocque's crew, Stelisto operated as a bounty hunter for some Hutt; M'Linzi had been a member of the Zygerrian royal guard until the murder of her queen. The two were the most skilled and experienced fighters on the ship. If Jocque deemed the situation severe enough to arm himself they knew to join him.

They were too slow. Something may have held the Jedi's attention in the cockpit for a moment after the ship jumped to hyperspace, but the moment had passed. The hatch opened, the Jedi stepped out, and Jocque spoke a single word. "Lockdown." The cockpit hatch and blast doors snapped shut behind the Jedi, narrowly missing the heel of his trailing foot. The Jedi stopped dead in his tracks. They stood there motionless, staring at each other. Jocque waited and watched. He could feel his heart racing, though his breath came in deep steady breaths. The Jedi moved first, a subtle shift to place weight over the balls of his feet ready for movement. Jocque responded with a subtle flexing of his fingers, adjusting his grip on the pistols and putting just a tiny bit of tension on the triggers. If even half the stories of Jedi were true, he believed the child in front of him was acutely aware of how close the blasters were to firing.

"I ask questions, you answer truthfully." Jocque's tone left no room for doubt, he would fire should the Jedi fail to comply to Jocque's satisfaction. "I'm not the most honest or law-abiding person in the galaxy. I stole this ship. I smuggled cargo for the Hutts in return for protection against the bounty the CEC placed on my head for taking her. When this war started I smuggled supplies past Separatist blockades and won our pardons. For the last two years I've delivered war droids to protect isolated and vulnerable Republic settlements. We have earned more than enough good will with the Republic for them to forgive a whole slew of offenses, yet that Star Destroyer never gave us a chance. Tell me why. Why would they sacrifice my crew just to get you, and why shouldn't I kill you for it?"


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Okuvad's eyes flicked from side-to-side as he weighed his options. The lockdown order had sealed all the blast doors in the corridor. He had nowhere to run and no cover. Without a lightsaber Okuvad could do nothing against blaster fire; he was no Anakin Skywalker. His meager abilities with mental manipulation were insufficient to push the captain into backing down. The only thing he had going for him was telekinesis, but he prefered to deescalate the situation instead of starting a fight he couldn't win. That left few options. He put his hands in the air: stiff and straight like he stretched for the ceiling.

"Don't shoot! I have no idea what's going on!" The captain didn't react. He did less than react. He held dead still for several long moments, long enough that Okuvad realized the Dug and Zygerrian peaked from behind bulkhead supports at the rear of the corridor, blaster carbines leveled and steady. Okuvad lowered and softened his voice, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm serious. I've done nothing. My master is a pacifist," he stammered rapidly, "an academic. Lai Stree fled the Jedi years ago to stay out of the war. I'm nothing more than her student. I study philosophy and theology for Force's sake!"

The captain roughly holstered his pistols, "OK."

Okuvad blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. "You believe me?"

"I didn't. I do now," the sentient said. Okuvad couldn't read the captain's expression. Lacking the facial features humans and near-humans typically relied upon for visual clues, the captain was like reading a blank wall: smooth reptilian skin, no nose, a lipless mouth with too little movement in it. They stood in silence, continuing to stare at one another for several more excruciating seconds before the captain finally deemed to explain himself. "Liars are relieved when someone buys their lie; you were confused. Only someone telling an unbelievable truth is shocked by belief."

"I... guess that makes sense?" Okuvad wasn't convinced lying and truthfulness were that clear cut. "What happens now?"

The captain's face stretched into a close-mouthed smirk. "Now, we figure out why the Republic wants you dead." The captain turned and slammed a fist into one of the hatches in a steady rhythmic knock. "Inchinn, open up! Lockdown is over." The hatch opened and the Givin took a rigid step into corridor, datapad in hand.

"What I've decrypted so far," he said, thrusting the datapad into the captain's hand. The Givin's recessed eyes glanced quickly at Okuvad then cast downward as he took a lumbering step back to his quarters and shut the hatch behind him. The captain's eyes swept back and forth across the datapad's screen as he took in the information. When he finished reading, the captain stepped back and gestured down the corridor toward the galley.

"After you," he ordered.

Okuvad complied. He had nothing to gain from resistance. As he passed the captain he asked over his shoulder, "What are we going to do now?"

The captain's reply was grim. "An interrogation."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Jocque watched the Umbaran Jedi take a seat at Hadron's mess table. The boy ran a hand over the growth of hair on his scalp, a habit he had picked up in the last few days. Other than that tick, he was the picture of serenity. Jocque couldn't figure out if the kid was really as unflappable as he seemed or if it was an act. He was vaguely aware of Stelisto and M'Linzi taking up position to either side of him, weapons ready but not trained on anyone. He hoped force would not be necessary, but a little intimidation never hurt. Instead of taking a seat himself, Jocque stood across the table looking down on his captive.

"When Inchinn realized Eriadu's public broadcast system was down and all he was picking up were encrypted military signals, he set his computer to record and decrypt as much data as possible. You know what this says?" He shook the datapad but didn't allow the kid to see it.

"No, how could I?" The boy was obviously confused, caught off guard by the sudden change of tone from the corridor when Jocque believed him to the galley where his tone was heavy with doubt and accusation.

"This says the CIS attacked Coruscant and attempted to kidnap the Supreme Chancellor. The Republic says Count Dooku was killed in the attempt but not before Supreme Chancellor Palpatine witnessed him communicating with his apprentice, a woman named Lai Stree." The kid was on his feet in an instant, slamming the table with his hands. Once on his feet, he paced a short path back-and-forth, his hands on his head and eyes searching for answers overhead.

"No, that's not true. That's impossible!" The boy pointed one slim grey finger at the datapad. "Those are lies. Kriffing lies and nothing else!"

"This!" yelled Jocque as he shook the datapad. "This is an encrypted military transmission. The entire Republic Navy has been issued a kill-on-sight order for your master, and you by association. The Supreme Chancellor himself ordered it."

"Then he lies! I'm innocent! My master is innocent!" His pleas had turned to screams. "We are innocent!"

"That's your defense? Supreme Chancellor Palpatine is framing you? To what end? Why would the leader of the whole damn Galaxy want the Jedi and military chasing ghosts? Think about it!" The kid's calm outer shell was cracking. His pacing sped up and he gripped his head as if he could squeeze it hard enough to keep himself from losing his mind. "Even if I believe you do you know your master well enough to guarantee she never contacted Dooku? That she wasn't some sort of acolyte of his, a hidden disciple ready to rise against the Jedi should he fall? What have you been doing all this time?"

The kid held his fists in front of him, like he held an imaginary person by the lapels and tried vainly to shake sense into them. "Nothing! We traveled, researching cultures and religions of the Force. We studied the Nightsisters of Dathomir, the Frangawl Cult of Bardotta, the teachings of Braata of Dwartii. We fought no battles. We had nothing to do with the Republic or the Separatists. This is insane."

"Were you with her every second of every day? Can you really say you were there all the time and she never communicated with Dooku behind your back?" The kid's nervous energy evaporated and he slunk onto the mess table's bench, defeated.

"No," he accepted, shoulders slumped. "No, I can't say that. She taught me that everyone needs time alone with the Force to understand it; that self discovery was the foundation of knowledge. To that end we would spend periods of time alone, meditating." The kid wasn't completely defeated. His voice rose in a last bid at defiance. "She never taught me combat. I had to sneak away with my training lightsaber to practice forms and battle training drones. I can't honestly say I know what she was doing while we were apart. I can say that in our years travelling together I never suspected a relationship with Count Dooku, and she never taught me skills that would have prepared me for war."

Jocque stared at the boy for a long time. Once again, he felt the young Jedi's sincerity. He really didn't know why they were in danger. It was all just bad luck. The boy knew the wrong person like Jocque had taken a chance on the wrong person, and now they were all screwed. Simple as that. "You're confined to quarters while I try to figure out what to do with you. What's your name?"

"Okuvad."

"Okuvad, I'm Jocque. I'm not making promises, and I don't know what's going to happen. What I can tell you is this: your life's not in danger from this crew. We're smugglers, not killers. No one here is going to shoot first and ask questions later," he said with a pointed glance toward Stelisto. "If a peaceful resolution can be found, I'll find it."

He watched Okuvad return to his quarters and waited for the hatch to shut behind him. As soon as he heard the seals engage, Jocque turned to his crew. "Pass the word to Du and Khadae. From now on we're armed everywhere, on the ship, in port, I don't care. Not stun blasters. Real weapons. No one leaves this ship unless they're loaded for gundark. Pistols, carbines, repeaters, grenades. Doesn't matter to me."

Jocque didn't wait for them to argue or ask questions. He rounded on his heel and took the few long strides he needed to return to Inchinn's quarters, repeating his knock and enter routine. Unsurprisingly, the Givin was back at his terminal watching data scroll past at an alarming rate. Inchinn snatched his minicomputer from his desk and stood, waving a hand at the screens of his ship-integrated terminal. "It's all decrypted. More of the same: military reports discussing intelligence supplied by the Chancellor's office indicating this Lai Stree and her apprentice are something like silent partners in Count Dooku's conspiracy, but not one specific piece of evidence. No references to source material, no dates or locations, no surveillance holos. The entire operation is based on Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's word. The math here is simple. The missing person alert on Utapau with no mention of crimes or danger means the Republic, or more specifically the Supreme Chancellor, doesn't want the public to know Lai Stree and Okuvad's alleged crimes. The change in orders to kill them and all acquaintances the moment the public wouldn't see means the Supreme Chancellor decided allowing them to talk was too dangerous. When you presented the datapad and information did he deny all of it? Probably claimed it was lies and some sort of conspiracy against him?"

Jocque's answer was nearly breathless. "Yes."

Inchinn's face was unreadable, the rigid expression reflecting the unshakable surety of his response. "He's right."

"But, why? Why would the kriffing Supreme Chancellor want the Republic and the Jedi dedicating resources to finding and killing a pair of irrelevant runaways?"

"The same stupid motivation every politician has: power. When the war started the Senate granted him emergency powers. The part of the report about Count Dooku must be true. With their leader dead, the CIS will start to crumble and the war will end, taking the Supreme Chancellor's powers with it. He'll slip from ruler of the galaxy to mere figurehead."

Scenario after scenario flickered through Jocque's head as he processed Inchinn's revelations. Jocque was smart, once one of the best engineers on Corellia. But, compared to the dumbest Givin Jocque was little more than an idiot child, and Inchinn was far from being the dumbest Givin. On more than one occasion, Inchinn had calculated hyperspace jumps in his head just to prove he could do it faster than D4-N1. Jocque found the idea absurd and unbelievable, but his thoughts were skewed by emotion and irrational disbelief. The facts led Inchinn to the conclusion and Jocque had faith that his friend was right. "I don't see the endgame. That ambush couldn't have been an isolated incident. There would have been ships in place at all the likely destinations from Utapau. With that kind of coordination and resources, what is he buying himself? Days, weeks, a month?"

"Enough. He'll buy himself enough time to plan a next move. He must have some new threat against the Republic prepared, or maybe he's trying to buy time for the CIS to regroup. I don't know what the Chancellor's plan is, but I know this is nothing but a delaying action. He's a corrupt politician-not that there's any other kind-and he's had at least three years of preparation. Whatever his plan, he wouldn't gamble like this if he wasn't prepared to implement something smarter soon. The Republic will hunt us down and kill us, and by the time we're dead he will have secured his position."

Jocque knew he was right. He also knew Inchinn was right about the Republic killing them. The Supreme Chancellor couldn't risk the chance that Okuvad had the evidence to prove his innocence, evidence the Hadron's crew could now have seen. No matter what they did to the Jedi apprentice-kill him, turn him in, stick him in an escape pod and abandon him-they were no longer safe. The Chancellor would use his influence to hunt them down and silence them. "We have to disappear..."

"Yes."

"Install one of the other transponders and prepare an encrypted message to our benefactor. Next time we drop out of hyperspace send it. Tell him everything you just told me, a whole rundown of events from when Buzilgan tried arresting us through the escape from Utapau and the ambush over Eriadu. Don't ask for help, just brief him."

"Done and done, friend. We're now flying as the __Spaced Tradesman__ , a Gozanti-class cruiser registered on Alderaan for private freight. I already instructed Dani to keep our acceleration, velocity, and maneuvering within specifications for the identity. As long as no one pays us much attention we have some time."

Jocque nodded, appreciative. "Thanks. I'll talk to Dani about setting a final destination for us."

Inchinn shook his head, "Also done. The droid set our destination from the Eriadu jump for Gerrenthum. From there, we should be able to calculate a jump to Lotho Minor. It's a useless junk pile, no significant population and no ties to the Republic or CIS."

"OK…" Jocque spread his hands in front of him, eyes searching the space between them for something to say or do. "I'll… go do something captainy, then." He stepped into the corridor and quickly turned back toward the cockpit, finding the path blocked by Du helping a barely conscious Rayjer back to his quarters. The clone's head hung, his face filled with grief and shame. Sad eyes peered from a scarred face.

"Captain, I'm sorry."

Jocque shook his head, dismissing the need for apology. "The clones are your family. I understand." Jocque stepped forward, wanting to put a comforting hand on the clone but realizing Rayjer's abundance of cybernetics would prevent him from feeling it anyway. "No one died. We didn't damage any of the ships. We ran. They're fine, you're fine. Get some rest." He helped Rayjer to his bunk and watched in silence as Du dosed the lost soldier once again, sending him to sleep. In all the time he'd known the clone he'd never shown an emotion before, and now his first expression was guilt. __Had Jocque done that to him? Was that now his place in the galaxy?__ Jocque tried shaking the horrible thoughts from his head. He used to love this life; it used to be fun. Jocque feared those days were now only a memory.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Hours earlier, Captain Jocque had returned to Okuvad's quarters, following Rayjer in. The captain helped the clone back onto his bunk then informed Okuvad his confinement to quarters was rescinded. Something had changed, though exactly what Okuvad did not know. Fear radiated from the captain. Fear and confusion. Either Captain Jocque had learned something or he and the crew had come to some conclusion they neither liked nor understood. However, Okuvad could feel the captain no longer considered him a threat to the crew, and Okuvad took that as a small victory. Although Captain Jocque had again given him permission to move about the ship, Okuvad had no particular reason to do so. He attempted to meditate at first, hoping the Force would grant him some answers to the questions that circled his mind, but no matter his focus visions eluded him.

Hours later, Rayjer still slept deeply on his charging station. None of the crew seemed interested in visiting, and Okuvad risked removing the treasure from his pocket. Weeks ago he had felt it's call, a whisper in the dark beckoning him across the galaxy. Lai Stree called it a fool's errand, but Okuvad set a course for Utapau anyway. He followed the call across the wind-scarred surface of the planet to a narrow cave opening. The Force tempted him deeper and deeper into the cavern. He felt as though he'd lost all choice in the matter, the Force dragging him into the dark against his will. In that impossibly black underground of Utapau he found a single shining point of light, an ethereal voice singing in the dark. His hand closed around the kyber crystal and suddenly he was complete, like discovering a piece of himself he never knew was missing. He was riding dreams of a lightsaber when the barrage of turbolaser fire destroyed their yacht and his escape from the Jedi began.

Now he meditated with the crystal suspended before him. He could feel the Force within it. To anyone else the crystal would appear slightly dull and clear like silicon-dioxide. To Okuvad, the crystal glowed with faint inner light, a brilliant white haloed in a radiant array of colors. He wouldn't know the color of his blade until he constructed a proper lightsaber, but all his tools and parts were destroyed with the shuttle. For now he would keep his crystal safe until his opportunity to become complete. Isolated from the Jedi Order with his few supplies destroyed, Okuvad was unsure if such a time would ever come. He must trust the Force.

Time slipped away as he stared into the crystal. His own thoughts drifted with the currents of the Force and for a sliver of eternity he knew only the warmth of the crystal's glow. Some irritance scratched the edge of his consciousness. Okuvad was young, a decade of training from obtaining the rank of Jedi Knight when he left in exile. Still, he trained at the Jedi Temple as far back as he could remember. Meditation was a foundation of the Jedi's training, and Okuvad developed the skill to push stray thoughts aside before he was even 10 years old. Now though, the distraction persisted and grew until forcing him from his meditation, his crystal dropping into his hand. His senses focused on the chamber around him. Okuvad realized the distraction had not come from his mind but from the clone sleeping across from him: Rayjer. When sleeping, the clone's cybernetics went into a standby state and didn't move, but his upper torso and head now shook and glistened with sweat. From time to time the clone would mumble or groan in his sleep; a nightmare.

"Good. Good! Good soldiers… good soldiers..." The clone repeated the phrase over and over again, his voice sometimes crescendoing to a near yell but mostly a muted and barely intelligible mumble. Okuvad thought the clone should be thrashing in his sleep but his deactivated cybernetics kept him relatively still. Okuvad's first instinct was to wake the clone, but another thought came to mind. Cool, grey fingers delicately embraced the clone's head. Closing his eyes, Okuvad extended his will into the clone's mind bracing himself for the biting chill of the clone's emotionless state. He found something else. Fear, anger, and pain radiated from the clone threatening to overwhelm Okuvad. He pushed through the emotions trying to find a trace of the clone's dream but the turbulent emotions fought Okuvad's probe, like trying to swim against a current. Okuvad pushed the emotions aside gently as he knew how, slipping closer and closer to the memories and dreams spawning them. Flickering images began to appear to Okuvad. Soon the images coalesced into scenes, and the scenes came together until the dream enveloped Okuvad.

 _ _He felt the oppressive humidity of Felucia suffocating him. A thick jungle of massive fungi rose from the ground like a living cage. The jungle a violent explosion of life: dense leaves, caps, and stalks twitching and swaying as though driven by some terrible will. The muted blues and flaring oranges of fungus mixed with toxic greens, reds, and the burnt brown of the soil. The array of colors disorienting Okuvad until he realized he saw the colors from a human's perspective.__

Okuvad pushed a closer to Rayjer's mind and immediately the sounds of battle engulfed him. __Blaster fire, explosions, and screaming. Ghostly figures of clones coalescing from the shadows, the distinctive white plastoid-alloy armor of the clone army a sharp contrast to the vivid jungle. Perhaps half a dozen of the troops wore specialized armor decorated orange and carried packs bulging with tools.__ Okuvad himself had little experience with the clone army, but his connection with Rayjer afforded him a little information about what they watched. The orange-armored clones were an ordnance disposal unit, Rayjer's squad.

Okuvad had heard tales of this battle. Rayjer dreamed of the First Battle of Felucia. The thought nearly pulled Okuvad back into the chaos of it all, and he desperately braced himself against the torrent trying to maintain his presence near enough to Rayjer's mind to observe but separate enough to remain free of the emotions. The droid army emerged from the jungle approaching relentlessly in lockstep, hundreds of droids for every dozen clones. A solid wall of alloy spewed plasma bolts that burned away the jungle to send flames towering into the sky. __The Jedi are failing them. We are dying. My brothers are dying!__ Okuvad realized the thought was Rayjer's, and his awareness of it drew his attention to the other side of the battlefield. Faceless beings in flowing robes wielded blades of fire. The droids' attention and fire power seemed split between the tight knot of clones and the Jedi beyond. The Jedi's blades were a blur of light blocking every bolt fired at them. Not just blocking. At first, the Jedi redirected the plasma back into the ranks of droids or sent a blast sailing into the jungle. Then slowly the shots blocked by the Jedi began to fall closer and closer to the clones. Then shots flew haphazardly into the ranks of clones. To Okuvad's horror he watched as clone after clone fell, caught between the horde of droids and Jedi.

Hate and fear consumed Okuvad; Rayjer's hate and fear. Not for the battle but for the Jedi. He blamed the Jedi for the losses of Felucia, and those emotions turned the dream against Rayjer. The Jedi were no longer failing to protect the clones but intentionally harming them. Okuvad watched as clones died all around him and he was powerless to save them. The survivors tried to drag the wounded to cover but explosions rocked the battlefield. His eyes were drawn to the bodies strewn around him, mines and explosives rigged to the fallen clones. A clone sergeant pointed to Rayjer and yelled, "Follow orders!"

 _ _He paws at his pack struggling to find tools to disarm the devices, but his hands shake and his fingers stiffen. He clips a wire on the device and in an instant of terror realizes his mistake, white light and heat bathing him in unimaginable pain.__ __Rayjer lies on his back looking through the burning foliage at the dark Felucian night, dying__. __A croaking laughter fills his ears, a cackle terrible for the absolute mirth it takes in the suffering of war. As his vision fades, the embodiment of his death fills the sky: a hooded figure all of black, hands outstretched with delicate threads connecting fingertips to battlefield. Jedi, clones, and droids alike dance to Death's will and delight.__

Then the dream and battle began again, a cycle of death relived again and again. Okuvad pulled away from the clone's mind in a wave of nausea and despair. He crossed his arms over his belly and doubled over as the compartment spun around him. Okuvad concentrated on breathing techniques to center himself and separate his own emotions from those of Rayjer. Okuvad slowly freed himself of Rayjer's hate and fear and settled into his own comfortable feeling of serenity. He felt pity for Rayjer, and a twinge of guilt. No one should live with the terrible memories that haunted the clone, and he knew his presence only exacerbated the problem. No matter how long Okuvad's exile from the Order, Rayjer saw him as a Jedi and a constant reminder of the battle.

Okuvad could not watch Rayjer suffer. Though he wished to never experience the horror of that nightmare again, he made himself touch Rayjer's mind again. This time, Okuvad maintained his focus and held himself separate from the dream. He fought the pull that had sucked him into the events before. From his place just outside of the dream he focused his will to gently shape the events in Rayjer's memory. He wasn't strong enough to erase the memory, but that wasn't his goal. He didn't want Rayjer aware of any manipulation. Okuvad couldn't stop the other clones from dying, but he hid their presence from Rayjer. He focused Rayjer's awareness and concern for his task and dimmed the clone's perception of the others. Soon Rayjer stood alone between the army of droids and the Jedi.

Now, Okuvad extended his will to the droids to focus their fire solely on the Jedi. The bolts redirected by the Jedi no longer threatened Rayjer and instead returned precisely into those that fired them. Rayjer's place on the battlefield became an island of safety in the sea of chaos and destruction. A nudge from Okuvad sent Rayjer walking from the battlefield into the natural beauty of Felucia-now a scene untouched by the destruction of war, a sliver of memory from before the fighting. He looked to the sky and instead of the hooded death figure Rayjer saw the millions of his brothers who yet lived, serving proudly across the expanse of the galaxy. No longer did the dream end with him burning and in pieces. Rayjer realized his body was strong, stronger than ever before. The nightmare didn't end with an agonizing fade to black but with an uplifting sensation of bliss bathed in the warm light of a rising Felucian sun.

Okuvad opened his eyes and stepped away from Rayjer's charging station. No more did the clone groan and grumble. His face stilled and voice quieted, the compartment silent but for the gentle whistle of the clone's oxygen scrubbers. Soft steps took Okuvad away from the clone to the compartment's hatch, which zipped open with a gentle swish. Walking into the corridor he found the ship bathed in a gentle glow of red light just at the edge of his perception, indicating the ship's period of simulated night cycle. Captain Jocque had lifted Okuvad's restriction to quarters and given him leave to move about the ship, but he wasn't sure if the captain considered that common spaces only or the more delicate areas of ship's operation as well. Okuvad thought he might take a chance and turned to the cockpit. As far as he could tell the ship's droid pilot remained a permanent fixture at the pilot's station, and he had been allowed in the cockpit once before. After the experience witnessing the clone's nightmare and the strain of manipulating his thoughts, Okuvad thought a few minutes staring into the glow of hyperspace might do him some good.

The cockpit hatch opened to reveal the copilot's chair already occupied, surprising Okuvad. Captain Jocque's thin frame and dark blue skin silhouetted against the electric blue glow passing through the ship's viewports. The captain didn't bother looking over his shoulder to identify his visitor. "Trouble sleeping, young Jedi?"

"How did you know it was me?"

The captain reached out and tapped one of the screens on the copilot's console with a slender finger. "Security monitoring. The ship logs the use of every hatch on the ship. I saw the hatch to your quarters open. Rayjer's sleep cycles are artificially regulated, so…" He let the sentence trail off, the logic not requiring further explanation.

"And you? Trouble sleeping also?" Okuvad inquired.

"Always." The captain looked over his shoulder and held Okuvad with a steady gaze for a moment. "Mind if I ask you something?" Jocque asked.

Okuvad shook his head. "No. I owe you answers for not shooting me out an airlock."

Captain Jocque spun the copilot's chair around so he could face Okuvad directly. He saw the captain still had his holsters and pistols on. Red eyes stared at Okuvad over steepled fingers. "Tell me about your master and your exile. I don't care about what you were doing, but I can't stop myself from wondering the why of it. Why leave the Jedi Order but continue studying the Force? Can you tell me the whys? Was your master running from something or searching for something? The holes in my understanding haunt me."

Okuvad leaned against a bulkhead support and crossed his arms. "That's a lot of information."

Captain Jocque shrugged in reply. "Doesn't look like either of us has much else to do."

"Where do I start?"

"Start with how you became apprentice to your master then why you both left the Jedi."

Okuvad wasn't sure how detailed the captain wanted his story, but he had the impression he shouldn't omit a thing. Captain Jocque would know. "The beginning then." Okuvad took a deep breath to prepare himself. "I met Lai Stree when I was a youngling-that's the first phase of Jedi training," he clarified. "Just before the onset of the Clone Wars I was preparing for the Gathering, a kind of initiation rite. At the end of the Gathering younglings acquire a lightsaber crystal and become padawans: an apprentice to a Jedi Master or Knight. Those in search of a padawan often make contact with the younglings before the Gathering, assessing individual talents and skills and predetermining the apprenticeships. Lai Stree was a Jedi Knight without a padawan, and I was a good match for her.

"Before the time of my Gathering, the Clone Wars began. Suddenly the Jedi were propelled from negotiators, scholars, and peacekeepers into the role of battlefield commanders and generals. Lai Stree foresaw the role as the death knell of the Jedi Order. The battlefield would inevitably cause the Jedi to embrace the Dark Side of the Force."

Captain Jocque held up one hand, stopping Okuvad. "I know nothing of the Force, what it is or how it works. Explain to me, as simply as possible, what is the Force and the Dark Side?"

Okuvad ran his hand across his short hair. "Imagine the Force as an energy field encompassing and permeating every part of the Galaxy, influencing and influenced by all living things. The Jedi describe the Force based on several aspects: the Living Force generated by living beings, an ever present field of energy called the Cosmic Force, the Light side of the Force representing peace and serenity, and the Dark side of the Force representing aggression and passion." Okuvad stepped forward, his voice becoming higher and faster with excitement. Nothing brought him more joy than learning and teaching.

"Lai Stree taught that the dichotomy of the Light and Dark was an artificial construct of the Jedi, not an innate reality of the Force. The Jedi taught that we must always resist giving in to their emotions. By remaining calm and rational the Jedi maintain their commitment to the Light side and resist the seductive power of the Dark. Lai Stree doesn't believe this. The Force has no inherent good or evil aspects. The Light and Dark exist only in the minds of the Jedi. No one can experience battle without experiencing the feelings the Jedi associate with the Dark side: anger, fear, hate," he said, emphasizing each emotion by dramatically slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other. "My master predicted the Jedi would fall to the Dark side not because it truly exists but because they believe it does, embracing the violence and wickedness for no better reason than because their philosophy dictates the experience of those emotions must make them evil."

"A self-fulfilling prophecy," Jocque interjected.

"Yes," agreed Okuvad, smiling at the captain's understanding. "My master chose to distance herself from the self-imposed corruption of the Jedi Order, exploring the essence of the Force without Jedi dogma corrupting her perception. She took me as her apprentice-in-exile. She was already set to be my master and I trusted her judgement."

Captain Jocque shook his head, still seemingly confused. "So, you've been studying other understandings of the Force? Why?"

"My master rejected the false concept of Force users perpetually trapped by creeds requiring either complete devotion to emotionless logic or absolute submission to one's emotions. Studying the lesser known traditions gave us a broader perspective of the Force and greater understanding." Okuvad searched Captain Jocque's face looking for some sign of his thoughts. All he found was concern. "What is it?"

Captain Jocque sighed and ran one hand down his face, exasperated. "I can't comment on the nature of the Force. That is way, way beyond my understanding." The captain shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Okuvad could see pain and hesitation written all over his face, giving the impression he wanted to say something but also didn't like the idea of talking about it. Okuvad reached for the captain's mind with the Force-calling to him, enticing him, drawing the information from him. Okuvad's presence in the captain's mind was a gentle, seductive siren song whispering to the captain that it was safe to talk here.

The captain continued, "When we first met you looked so confused and asked me what I was. I've experienced that my whole life." Again the captain adjusted his position in his seat, now leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. "You have to know where I come from to understand the point I'm getting to. I was born on Corellia. My father"-the captain stressing the word to indicate he thought of the man as anything but-"was a Corellian diplomat. Human. My mother was the daughter of an envoy from Duros. Her father and mine arranged the marriage like some sort of primitive tribal gesture of alliance, making a connection between them to increase their diplomatic importance to their associated governments." The captain swallowed and scratched an imaginary itch on his head. Okuvad was surprised to see the normally fierce and decisive captain suddenly looking quite vulnerable and embarrassed.

"Humans and Duros can't mate, but my father was adamant the relationship produce offspring. He hired the best geneticists to give him a son, using modified DNA from my maternal grandfather to create me. I'm basically my grandfather's clone, but they modified my DNA to encourage the development of features to make me appear more human, creating the illusion that I am my father's son. As I grew, my appearance was further modified by cosmetic surgery just to please my father. I was raised as a human, but to the Corellians I was alien. Other Duros see me as deformed, a freak. I fit in nowhere and with no one."

The captain tapped one finger on the cockpit's console. "This ship-any ship really-was my chance to escape it all. I started my career as a starship engineer with the Corellian Engineering Corporation. I could work all day and fantasize about stealing one of the ship's and fleeing my life. Then Hadron came along," the captain leaned back in his chair and his eyes swept across the ship, seemingly looking through the bulkheads to view the ship in its entirety. "CEC wanted to scrap her but she's unique, like me. If I was ever going to steal a ship to escape my father, Hadron was the one. We were meant to be together."

Captain Jocque paused for a long moment, lost in thought and memories. "And, now my point. I know what it is to walk that middle ground, to see what life is like to either side yet included in neither. It sucks void. I'd have given anything to fit in. I don't know if your master's beliefs have any merit; the Force is a mystery to me. I do know the legends though. The Jedi Order has existed for thousands of years. Tens of thousands of Jedi have served the Order, and I know of none who have fallen to this Dark Side you speak of. Except one," he said with a raised finger. "Count Dooku. The one Jedi Master known throughout the galaxy for leaving the Jedi Order. He turned his back on the Jedi and embraced his own beliefs. What did he do next? He started a war that has left a how many dead? Billions? Doesn't that tell you something?"

* * *

Jocque watched the young Jedi rush from the cockpit without saying a word, the hatch opening at a wave of his hand. He knew he'd struck a nerve. The kid must have doubts, buried somewhere deep in his subconscious. He feared making assumptions about this Lai Stree's motivations, but the way Okuvad described their relationship-Jocque shook his head. Maybe this mysterious master of Okuvad's sincerely wanted to find a better path, a less violent path. But, that didn't sit right with Jocque. The way Okuvad described their relationship: the casual contact at a young age, instilling a perception of failure in Okuvad's guardians, alienating him from the Jedi. While smuggling for the Hutts Jocque had seen that same formula put to work by the worst scum in the galaxy. Most gangs in the Outer Rim used the same technique, enticing youth into the dark underworld with sweet lies. The young Jedi's story left Jocque with a knot in his belly.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Confusion and worry ate at Jocque, and he never returned to his quarters. For hour after hour he thought about the Republic's tactics and Okuvad's story; a story that revealed no justification for the kill order. For a time he thought he might never sleep again, but at some point Jocque nodded off in the copilot's seat. D4-N1 woke him with a gentle prod from a clawed appendage. Starting awake, Jocque reached for his blaster in the moment of confusion. As the panic wore off, Jocque realized the ship had exited hyperspace. A planet filled half of Hadron's viewport, a semicircle of hazy bile. He couldn't believe it, but they had arrived at Lotho Minor. He had slept through their exit from hyperspace at Gerrenthum and the next jump to hyperspace. The adrenaline highs and lows of the last several days had caught up to him, finally.

"Dani, keep us in orbit and scan surface. See if you can find us something like a settlement and attempt to identify any ship signals, specifically anything Corellian built." Jocque turned toward the corridor but stopped short of the hatch. "Dani, set the intraship comms to all compartment speakers." The droid didn't respond or move, sending the command through his dataport connection to the ship. Jocque keyed the mic to the announcement system, "All ship's crew and passengers report to the armory for briefing."

Jocque's walk to the armory proved interesting. From the beginning he enforce a strict policy barring passengers from entering the armory and had never before authorized an exception. Even Rayjer-onboard the ship for a year before M'Linzi joined the crew-was not allowed in the armory. Allowing two passengers into the armory and including them in a briefing emphasized the severity of the situation, and the worried looks and hurried actions of the crew reflected that fact. The armory was another compartment repurposed from Hadron's original design, originally the galley with no access to the main corridor. Jocque's crew had no need for a galley large enough to feed dozens and used the food preparation areas intended for the prisoners' quarters. The main galley's large pantry, refrigerator, and freezer now served as storage vaults for weapons salvaged by the crew. Three years of scouring battlefields had provided them with a formidable arsenal.

The crew surrounded the briefing table in the armory, Rayjer and Okuvad standing behind the table opposite Jocque. He was surprised by the contrast in crew reactions to the situation. Du, Khadae, and Inchinn all showed signs of nervous energy, tapping fingers and bouncing legs. On the other hand Stelisto, M'Linzi, Rayjer, and Okuvad projected eerie calm. Each of the latter had some sort of military background, including Okuvad's training as a Jedi. Jocque knew they felt the pressure too, but their experience had instilled the fortitude to hide it. As his gaze moved from person to person, Jocque made sure to acknowledge each individually, with a nod or his version of a smile. He was shocked when Rayjer returned the greeting with a smile of his own, one that looked surprisingly genuine. Jocque thought that meant either one or the other was losing his mind. The clone had not demonstrated an emotion since his rescue, let alone anything positive.

Jocque cleared his throat before speaking. "We have stumbled into a danger beyond our understanding. For reasons I cannot explain the Republic has marked this ship for destruction, crew included. The order came from the office of the Supreme Chancellor himself." The story of his interrogation of Okuvad had spread through the ship, apparently. Stating the severity of their circumstances visibly agitated every member of the crew but surprised no one. "Inchinn has taken the liberty of activating one of our disguised transponders, but Hadron still bears her unique appearance. D4-N1 has placed us in orbit over the planet Lotho Minor, a junk world with no affiliation to any galactic government. I propose we scavenge the planet for ship parts that will allow us to disguise Hadron as a Gozanti-class cruiser. However, this is also an opportunity to leave the ship for anyone who chooses to. Other than myself, Inchinn, and Okuvad I don't believe the Republic has any information tying the rest of you to this ship. You could disappear here, should you wish it."

Stelisto answered with a string of gruff Huttese that Jocque completely missed, and he looked to Khadae for help. The musky Yarkora politely nodded his head and translated. "Our friend Stelisto says: a million credits of cargo waits in our hold. A fool only would flee before payday."

Jocque looked around the room, providing time for more input but the crew remained silent. "If you stay, I have an assignment for you. I know we traditionally put this kind of operation to a vote, but there is little choice for us now. Hadron will land on the surface. Each of you will be assigned a search area on the surface with a contingent of our droids and repulsor jacks. Salvage any large flat durasteel we can use to disguise the ship, preferably from CEC ships. Inchinn has already programmed the droids with friend-or-foe identification protocols that use our communicators to identify us as friendly. The droids will provide you with labor and protection while on the planet. Lotho Minor has a reputation for a harsh environment and heavy bouts of acid rain; everyone will wear hazard suits while off the ship."

"Rayjer can't leave the ship then," Du added suddenly. The clone's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt. Du continued, "I'm sorry, Rayjer. I still don't have the proper coverings for most of your systems, and a hazard suit will interfere with your exposed cybernetics. Acid rain poses too much of a danger for you to risk helping."

"OK," Jocque responded. "I'll be here with the maintenance droids working on the structural modifications to the ship. An extra pair of hands won't hurt, even if he has to wait out the rain."

"Works for me," declared Rayjer with a grin. "I didn't want to be out there when your modified droids go full clanker anyway." All eyes turned to Rayjer in collective shock. In his years on the ship, the clone's attitude had fluctuated from brooding, to sullen, to catatonic but never anything resembling mirth. Either Du's treatments worked miracles, or Rayjer had finally snapped.

"I won't be participating in the search," said Okuvad, breaking the silence. He continued, "I felt something when we entered the planet's orbit. Some sort of disturbance in the Force. I have to investigate."

"How can I say no to the Force?" Jocque asked venting his exasperation. "I also need Khadae to travel to what passes for a settlement on this forsaken rock. That means the rest of you are out of luck, no more weaseling out of the search." Jocque locked eyes with the large Yarkora ensuring he paid attention to his orders. "Dani will provide you coordinates to the settlement. Find us something to replace the shuttle. A small shuttle, a lifeboat, an escape pod large enough for the whole crew, anything that will fit our dock. We're pretty far from anything like a commercial supply line so take what you can get. If you have to buy something that's broke down, do it. We'll repair it. You take a guard of six droids; the rest we'll split evenly between Du, Stelisto, M'Linzi, and Inchinn," he ordered, pointing to each crew member in turn. "Okuvad, you're on your own."

The young Jedi nodded, "I prefer it that way."

Jocque reached the end of his brief. "I've already ordered everyone arm themselves, but I'm expanding that order. Everyone takes a blaster pistol and carbine, grenades if you're comfortable with them. Armor, too. This planet is as lawless as they come. Now get to it. You have minutes to prepare. Dani will have located a landing zone by now. As soon as I walk out of this armory I'm headed to the cockpit to give the order to land."

Jocque thought actions motivated better than words, and he punctuated his speech by walking out before anyone could interrupt him again. He jogged through the main corridor back to the cockpit. The instant the hatch opened, D4-N1 started talking. " _Captain, I have located something like a settlement with a landing platform. The ship's planetary database does not list much information on Lotho Minor except a warning describing all native sentients as hostile: normal for a planet with a type I or II atmosphere, in my experience._ "

"Good job, Dani. I want power levels as low as possible, break orbit far from the settlement and take us in low and slow. Find a landing spot at least five kilometers from the settlement. I don't want anyone seeing us."

" _Aye, Aye, Captain._ "

The descent to the surface disoriented Jocque. The polluted atmosphere of Lotho Minor seemed too thick, too opaque. Jocque felt like his ship was sinking into some primordial ocean forgotten by the galaxy. What monsters awaited them in the depths? Jocque lost his sense of time watching the murk of Lotho Minor's atmosphere. All awareness of his surroundings except the viewport slipped away. His own thoughts, feelings, and concerns faded into the background, replaced with the sickening presence of the planet. Jocque's stomach turned and the need to resist an urge to vomit snapped him back to reality. He had a bad feeling about this planet.

"Dani, any luck finding a landing zone?" He watched the droid as it piloted their descent. A casual glance and the droid would have looked still as a statue, but Jocque watched intently. D4-N1 moved subtly, making minute adjustments to the controls too fine and precise for biologic hands.

" _I have located a suitable landing zone._ " A topographic map appeared on the copilot's viewscreen, a flashing red icon indicating their target settlement with a blue circle over a relatively flat area to the southeast. " _Sensor readings suggest the location was once a small body of liquid, now evaporated to leave a gently sloping silt basin. A good place to hide, not a good place to defend._ "

Jocque could see what the droid meant. D4-N1's selected landing zone was at the lowest point of the basin. They would have no cover and would be surrounded by higher ground, albeit an elevation difference of only a few meters. Their distance from the settlement and the perpetual haze of the planet would hopefully conceal them from unfriendly eyes while they completed their mission. Their plan was simple, though the labor would surely prove difficult. In spite of the clarity of their direction, the knot in Jocque's gut haunted his thoughts.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Two uneventful day-night cycles passed as crew and droids scoured the inhospitable surface of the planet, the labor droids tearing into Lotho Minor's mountains of scrap for usable material. Slowly but surely, stacks of usable durasteel grew around Hadron's Lobuli as the salvage teams returned to unload their findings before once again disappearing into the twisted-metal wilderness. Only Khadae remained away, hopefully finding a safe place to quarter while he attempted to purchase or steal a replacement shuttle. The astromechs worked tirelessly welding salvaged durasteel to Hadron's hull, Jocque and Rayjer assisting during the brief periods without toxic rain. Hadron's cockpit and engine configuration would never pass for a Gozanti-class cruiser, but Jocque hoped the extra layer of durasteel plating could hide Hadron's cylindrical fuselage and pass for the blockier Gozanti design. If the Spaced Tradesman ident on their new transponder passed inspection and D4-N1 kept Hadron within the performance limitations of a Gozanti-class ship their disguise would only have to pass a casual glance, if anyone bothered to look at all.

Jocque's progress lagged behind his expectations as a heavier bout of acid rain forced even the astromechs to seek cover within the ship. Jocque did what little he could, restrained by an enviro-suit and his ability to carry only the smallest pieces of durasteel. His work was further slowed by the intimidating atmosphere. The planet's toxic fog pressed in and encased Jocque in a claustrophobic hell that eroded his focus. He realized the feeling must be what Khadae experienced every day on the ship. The planet's only saving grace was the heat. Had the planet's sun found the strength to penetrate the polluted cloud cover, Jocque might have spent a whole day simply lying there soaking in the warmth. Now, working alone on top Hadron's hull and blanketed in toxic fumes, the knot of fear in Jocque's gut returned.

The first few drops of the approaching acid storm fell upon Hadron and a bead of liquid rolled down Jocque's visor. The rainfall steadily increased until Hadron's surface seemed to boil as heavy drops hit the ship's armor and rebounded. Du's analysis had shown the rain to be more toxic than corrosive, but Jocque still flinched at seeing the chemical-laced water running down Hadron's armor. Soon, the rain fell harder than any of the previous drizzles. Toxic fog thinned and the barren view of the basin filled Jocque's visor. At the same moment Jocque decided the acid rain was coming down hard enough to justify him taking cover inside the ship he noticed the silhouettes of figures approaching through the haze. At first, he assumed another crew member returned with salvage in tow but some instinct demanded a second look. Every crew member had returned leading a column of droids steering repulsor jacks laden with durasteel. These approaching figures were spread in a wide line and crept cautiously. Jocque lowered himself to the ground with his magnetic grappling hook and retrieved the blaster rifle he'd propped under the cover of Hadron's aft cargo ramp. He was uncomfortable with the weapon, but his enviro-suit prevented his fingers from fitting in the trigger guard of his pistols. The suit's thick armor made shouldering the rifle difficult, but he'd rather clumsily wield the rifle than go unarmed.

The line spread out until it formed a near half circle stretching the length of Hadron's hull. He counted just shy of two dozen sentients, all of them stopping a hundred meters from him. The fog had lifted enough Jocque could make out some details but not enough to identify their species. All seemed to have a basic bipedal anatomy, common to so many sentient species in the galaxy. He could tell they weren't all of the same species; some were stooped figures barely a meter tall and others were gangly figures just of nearly two meters. Each wore some sort of protective suit. Here and there he could make out military grade armor of durasteel or plastoid while some of the individuals seemed to have nothing more than heavy flight suits or wrapped layers of cloth that could hardly be considered adequate for the environment. At the center of the arc was a small cluster of individuals, a tight knot consisting of three people standing behind another forced to their knees. To Jocque's horror, he recognized the kneeling figure as Khadae.

A helmet's communicator amplified a voice from one of the center figures. The helmet distorted the voice into a guttural and unnatural roar, but Jocque recognized the cadence of a Rodian speaking a Huttese dialect. Once again Jocque cursed himself for never learning the language. He assumed the speaker was the leader of this band, a supposition further supported by the individual's position directly behind Khadae and the quality of his armor. Not understanding the command, Jocque simply stood his ground and stared across the no man's land between them. The individual repeated their command again, louder. Jocque chose to continue ignoring the person and instead focussed on Khadae, trying to assess the Yarkora's condition. He had approached on foot with the others, but lacked the enviro-suit he'd worn when he left for the settlement. The acid rain was not corrosive enough to burn flesh and he made no attempt to cover himself and made no sound. Now on his knees, Khadae sat passively with his head slumped and his hands in his lap.

No, not hands. Stumps! Even from this distance and through the downfall Jocque could see his friend's arms ended in jagged stumps, ravaged ends hacked by careless strokes. By the stars! The pack leader repeated his gibberish again as he drew his sidearm and placed it to Khadae's head. Jocque brought his own weapon from a low ready to a firing position. Outnumbered, surrounded, and surely one of the least skilled fighters there Jocque prepared to unleash righteous fury in defense of his friend, be it his final act.

Jocque could see weapons raising all around him, and he prepared himself for his final moments. Violence changed from a concept of impending action to a palpable energy, the planet's toxic air charged with malice. Eyes narrowed and fingers tightened on triggers, but Death's due was delayed by the most unexpected occurrence. With no warning Khadae ascended into the air, not standing but floating several meters above the pirates. He hung there above the basin for several moments as the combatants stared dumbfounded. Suddenly, the Yarkora flew toward Jocque at preternatural speed, the camelid's bulk traveling 50 meters before hitting the ground with a heavy thump and rolling half the remaining distance, coming to rest on his back. The shock of the impact roused Khadae from his catatonic state and a basso bellow erupted from him that shook Jocque to his very core.

The pirate leader and his minions stared in shock, but Jocque searched left and right for the one thing he knew capable of such a feat. A flash drew his attention. Directly behind the pirate leader appeared a thread of silver light, wreathed in a shimmering magenta nimbus. The purity of the beam seemed to battle back the corrupted rain leaving a small pocket of clean air in which Okuvad stood, lightsaber in hand. His sword arm outstretched, Okuvad spun in a series graceful arcs. One, two, three deadly pirouettes carried the young Jedi past the pirate leader and flanking guards. Okuvad planted his feet beneath him and leapt an impossible height and distance, turning and flipping in the air to land lightly between Khadae and the pirates. The pirate leader and guards fell to pieces in a sickening pile of parts.

The demonstration broke the spell that held the pirates in place, a few breaking from the pack to run hard for the basin's edge. More than a dozen pirates remained in the firing line around Hadron. They opened fire as one and plasma filled the space between the pirates and the ship. Okuvad's lightsaber came alive in his hands, spinning first to his left as far as that arm could reach then the same to the right. The Jedi moved with such speed the light of his blade formed a flickering wall between the pirates and Khadae. Blaster bolts ricocheted in all directions, most flying wildly into the sky or ground but some returning to the pirates in wicked betrayal. The pirates quickly adapted. The Jedi's reach was not great enough to protect both Khadae and Jocque. Fire erupted in Jocque's chest as the first plasma bolt landed on target, knocking him from feet and consciousness.

* * *

The scum's volume of fire pushed Okuvad to the limits of his lightsaber skill then beyond. He'd sensed the captain collapse behind him, which had prompted the pirates to concentrate their fire on Okuvad again. The ferocity of their attack pushed him back first one step, then two, then another. Soon he knew his heels were no more than a few centimeters from the hulking form of the Yarkora. He wanted to throw the crewman toward the ship again, but he couldn't sacrifice the focus without blaster fire bypassing his defenses. He could feel another presence approaching rapidly behind him and a voice cut through the roar of battle.

"Commander!" Rayjer held a multi-barreled monstrosity of a blaster in his mechanical hands. The canon's presence mocked the scums' weapons for their inadequacy. Rayjer's cannon screamed as the barrels spun up to speed and a rapid stream of fire leapt from the clone's hands. A normal person firing such a weapon would have sprayed plasma bolts all over the place as the building recoil threw off their aim. The mass and strength of the clone's cybernetic body kept the weapon locked on target. A nearly solid line of plasma cut through the scum's ranks from right to left, leaving no target untouched. Rayjer threw back his head and laughed, a terrible fusion of joy and primal rage as pirate after pirate died at his hands. In seconds the scum were dead or fleeing. Rayjer wasted no time breaking off the engagement to tend the wounded, his training taking over. "Commander, see to the captain. I'll carry our malodorous friend to the medbay."

Okuvad deactivated his lightsaber and slipped it into the makeshift holster on his belt. No sooner had he turned and plasma bolts as thick as his torso screamed overhead as Hadron's port and cockpit weapon systems targeted those pirates that had fled. The turbolaser fire tore into the ground with explosions of superheated debris that left nothing but craters where people once stood. He felt no need to grieve worthless criminals: they'd chosen their own fate and the captain needed his help. Even out of the enviro-suit Jocque would weigh more than Okuvad could carry. He didn't bother trying, reaching out through the Force to gently raise the captain into the air and levitate him into the ship. Impressively, once Rayjer helped the Yarkora to his feet, Khadae followed under his own power.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Jocque came to in Hadron's medical suite. Details came to him slowly, his mind shrouded in a fog thicker than the planet's. The first realization was his location. He wasn't on the medical suite's bed but the floor, his whole body aching. Someone had placed something soft under his head and propped his feet on some sort of container. He looked up to find Khadae on the medical table with Rayjer and Okuvad frantically working over the ravaged remains of his hands. Okuvad washed one of the stumps with a sterile fluid while Rayjer applied bacta-laced bandages over the other, gently criss-crossing the wraps.

"D4-N1!" hollered Rayjer. "Tell me Du and the rest of the crew are returning to the ship."

The ship's PA system crackled to life and the droid responded, " _CT-19-8412, as I informed you with my last update: I hailed the crew and all are returning to the ship, eta two standard hours. Asking again does not change the facts._ "

"Kriffing clanker," muttered Rayjer.

Jocque raised a hand to his chest, the memory of a plasma bolt tearing into him storming back to him. Someone had stripped him of the enviro-suit placed a bandage over the wound. The area burned and throbbed with pain worse than he'd ever known before, but he could take a full breath and move all his limbs. The reinforced layers of the enviro-suit had taken the brunt of the blast. He started checking himself for other wounds, but Khadae's deep voice drew his attention.

"Captain… captain… captain…" The Yarkora's normally strong voice seemed weak and wispy, and Rayjer barked an order at him to save his strength. Khadae smacked his large lips together and ran a thick tongue across them as he tried to wet his mouth. "Captain, I tried. I swear I tried. I refused to tell them where the ship was, but they took my hand. Captain, they took my hand!" Khadae threw back his head and filled the medical suite with a piercing trumpet, a mournful call that broke Jocque's heart. He carried the note for near a minute before ending in panicked sobs. "They took my hand and said if I told them how to find the ship they wouldn't take the other. I'm so sorry, Captain. I told them. I told them and they took it anyway!" The big Yarkora unleashed another cry that cut short as Rayjer injected Khadae with a sedative, sending the camelid blubbering into unconsciousness.

"My apologies, Captain," said the clone. "I couldn't let him stress himself." Jocque tried to respond but he couldn't find his voice.

"You shouldn't stress yourself either," the clone reprimanded. "I learned more of Khadae's troubles before you woke. Marauders, marooned here after a failed mutiny attempt according to what he overheard. Rodians mostly, and a few Weequay. Several of them were a strange species we didn't recognize. D4-N1 concludes they must have been members of the planet's native species. At the settlement they eavesdropped on Khadae bartering for a new lifepod for the ship and conspired to steal it."

Jocque cleared his throat and responded in a hoarse whisper, "Did the droids count for nothing?"

Rayjer shrugged. "Khadae's account was not especially coherent, but I believe the pirates ambushed them with droid poppers. Disabled the droids and Khadae's weapons."

"Karabast," Jocque cursed. He tried to gain his feet, wincing with every movement. "We should move out to reinforce the others. They may be attacked." A gentle but unyielding weight pressed him onto the makeshift bed, preventing his every effort to rise. He struggled futility against the pressure in confusion until he looked up again. Jocque faced the outstretched hand of Okuvad, the young Jedi's attention and will focus on him.

The Jedi shook his head. "You stay there, rest and recover. D4-N1 has the crew on alert, but they're in no danger."

Jocque struggled futilely against the tangible weight of Okuvad's will. "No, I don't want them running into some pack of survivors looking for revenge."

Rayjer snorted. "Small chance of that." When he saw Jocque's confounded expression, Rayjer clarified, "We allowed no survivors."

"None?" Jocque asked breathlessly, surrendering to the Jedi and relaxing into his makeshift cot.

"None," answered the dispassionate clone.

The cold delivery of the answer frightened Jocque. He'd hoped Rayjer's improved mood of the last several days demonstrated an equal improvement in his mental state. Now he had doubts, and his instincts did not trust someone with so little mercy. Desperate to distract himself before his unease became apparent to all, Jocque turned to Okuvad. "You have a lightsaber now." The Jedi nodded, extending his hand as the hilt slid unaided from its sheath, floating to his hand. _Creepy_ , thought Jocque.

"I found"-the young Jedi's face pinched together as he searched for the proper way to vocalize his thoughts-"something. Ruins, rubble, debris… whatever you want to call it. Certainly the remains of a Jedi Temple, scattered and buried in one of this planet's refuse mountains. There I found the required equipment to construct the lightsaber," he said. "My lightsaber."

Jocque shook his head in profound disbelief. "Hard to image the Jedi building a temple here," he murmured.

"No," Okuvad clarified. "Not a temple for this planet. The remains were dumped here. A casualty of the Cone War, perhaps. Maybe from some long forgotten war. I don't know. And, there was something else. Something dark." The Jedi shuddered as though overcome by a biting chill.

Jocque liked the sound of that little more than he had the behavior of the clone. "Something dark?" he asked, already regretting the question. "Something in the Force?"

"Yes," Okuvad answered. "I found a cave steeped in the Dark Side of the Force. The power there," he shook his head. "The power there was unimaginable. I feared to enter. The only reason I returned to the ship in time was because I fled that place with all speed."

"I think we're both lucky you did not enter then. If for different reasons." Jocque felt himself sinking into the makeshift cot. The exertion of the conversation, revelations, and his struggle against the Jedi's will had taken a toll on him. "I think I may pass out…" he mumbled as unconsciousness took him.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Jocque woke to an eerie calm. Khadae slept on the medical suite's lone bed, his deep breathing a quiet rumble of distant thunder. The ship had entered lights out, bathing the compartment in a hellish red hue. Jocque gently rolled to his side and rose slowly to his feet. His body protested the effort; his injuries and time on the deck taking their toll. Jocque stretched and knuckled his back as he stifled a groan. He couldn't help but look at Khadae's arms. Du had returned, that much was obvious. The bandages showed her professional touch, the clumsy work of the clone replaced with tightly wrapped strips smelling faintly of bacta.

"Sleep well, friend," Jocque whispered. He slipped from the medical suite and scanned his ship. All crew quarters were sealed shut for the night, but a faint white light glowed from the galley to his right. Jocque stepped lightly down the main corridor and slipped silently into the mess. He found M'Linzi tucked away in the starboard corner, slumped over a table twirling a splash of liquor wetting the bottom of her glass. Jocque settled onto the bench beside her and nudged the Zygerrian with his elbow. "What's your poison?"

M'Linzi snatched the bottle from the table and her large golden eyes swayed this way and that as she tried focussing on the label. She closed her eyes for a long blink and tried again without success. "Don't know," she slurred. "Stole if from Stlesito's cell."

"Cell?"

The Zygerrian's ears perked sharply. "Quarters," she corrected.

They let several minutes pass in silence as M'Linzi sipped her drink. "How are you doing?" Jocque asked.

She flicked her lips with one clawed finger. "Can't feel my mowth."

Jocque smiled sadly, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. "You know that's not what I meant."

M'Linzi sniffled and laid her head against Jocque's chest. "They mutilated him."

"He's alive," Jocque comforted.

"They took his hands," she sobbed.

"And, he's alive," Jocque repeated. "He's in Du's hands now. He's safe."

M'Linzi pulled away from Jocque and cast a hateful glare through him and toward Rayjer's quarters. "Is he?"

Jocque didn't know how to respond to that. He opted to ignore the question and swiped her bottle instead. He took a quick pull and immediately spewed the mouthful of burning liquid onto the table. "Stars!" he coughed. "Are you sure this isn't blaster solvent?"

"No," M'Linzi spit. "Shtill works."

"Alright," Jocque said, turning to get his arms under M'Linzi's. "To the refresher. It's time for you to throw up."

"I don't wanna," she complained, clumsily trying to push his arms away. "I refooze."

"You say that now," Jocque chuckled. "I have 15 centimeters of knobby Duros finger that disagrees."

Jocque flinched as M'Linzi suddenly ran the claws of one hand across the tender blaster burns on his chest. "Challunge expected," she cooed.

"Oh, no," Jocque countered, spinning her away from him. He wrapped his arms around her and pinned hers in place. "That's not happening," he assured her. Jocque pulled her from the bench and drug her toward the refresher as she continued to mumble suggestively, dragging her heels in petulant refusal to cooperate. Inside the refresher Jocque dropped her over the waste-disposal unit and commanded, "Vomit."

The Zygerrian's spine straightened stubbornly and she turned her face away from the unit. "No! I don't wann-gack!"

Jocque's finger flashed as she spoke, and he drove it knuckle deep to trigger her gag reflex. Sick founted up his arm. "Nasty," he complained as he jerked his hand back and turned M'Linzi's stream into the unit. "There, there," he said, scratching behind her ears. "Let it all out."

M'Linzi collapsed beside the waste-disposal unit as she finished vomiting. "I hate you," she snarled.

Jocque chuckled at her pitiful display of pouting. "I love you, too." He pointed first one way then the other. "Bath or bed?"

One golden eye popped open and searched the room. M'Linzi moaned as she pulled herself into a sitting position then offered a hand for Jocque to help her up. "Bed," she said. "You need the bath."

He flicked his arm and sent drops of bile and alcohol streaming to the floor. "Take a few extra hours of sleep," he commanded. Jocque wobbled unsteadily, for a second feeling nearly as drunk as his security officer as the ship seemed to move away from him. "Are we in space?" he asked.

M'Linzi was busy running her tongue across her teeth, trying vainly to clean the taste of sick from her mouth. Her face had a sour twist to it as she answered, "Yes, the Jedi ordered our course."

"The Jedi!" Jocque shouted, more surprised than angry. "Set a course to where?"

M'Linzi grinned devilishly. "Takodana."

Jocque rocked back on his heels and exhaled gravely. "Oh… oh… that's not good."

* * *

Jocque shortened his stride to match the young Jedi as they followed the footpaths along the shore of Nymeve Lake, winding through the verdant forest of Takodana. The sweet melody of local wildlife washed over them as they walked, a soothing contrast from the days of starship hum and grumbling crew. Through the trees ahead Maz Kanata's castle loomed before them, an intimidating ancient stonework. They were close enough now Jocque spied flickering colors through gaps in the foliage, billowing banners marking the castle entrance. "How do you know Maz?" Jocque asked, distracting himself from the apprehension building within him as they neared the castle.

"I came here years ago," Okuvad answered. "My master wanted to study the castle."

Joque frowned at his young friend, confused. "What does Maz have to do with the Force?"

Okuvad gave him a wary sidelong glance that quickly turned into a wry smirk. "If Maz wanted you to know, you would."

Jocque gave the boy a playful shove, but the jest did little to alleviate Jocque's mounting stress. In the early days of his smuggling career Maz had help broker some deals for him-for a cut of his take, of course-but she always set him on edge for some reason he could never put his finger on. He tried shaking away the thoughts as they passed the last of the trees to enter the clearing surrounding the castle. His trepidations had not gone far before they came screaming back.

"JOCQUE!" Maz's voice echoed off the castle walls.

"Oh, here we go," Jocque mumbled to himself.

"ZYDECO!" Maz stood at the feet of her own statue, which stood tall above the castle. The diminutive figure of the real pirate queen lept from her perch and fell quickly toward the ground, slowing to a gentle landing with a burst from her jet pack. She stood in the tiny cloud of swirling dust and exhaust with one fist on her hip and the other shaking in Jocque's direction. "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize the ship hiding under that hideous slab of plating?" she accused.

"Hey, Maz," Jocque greeted with false enthusiasm. "We're not trying to hide from you," he said, emphasizing her with the hope she realized he wanted to keep a low profile. The kind of low profile that includes not shouting his name from the walls of the castle.

The tiny pirate queen smiled as though Jocque had told a joke and now she fought back the laugher. "Well, that's obvious," she chuckled. "With that disguise you're not hiding from anyone." She scanned the empty space behind them, a slight hint of worry creeping into her eyes. "Where's your crew?"

"With the ship, keeping an eye on the cargo."

Maz feigned surprise at the suggestion his cargo needed protection. "What!?" she asked sarcastically. "No one here would ever steal cargo."

"Uh, huh." Jocque gestured toward the castle and asked, "Can we continue this conversation over drinks?"

Maz nodded and stepped to the side, but she eyed Okuvad with a discerning eye as they neared her. "You boy," she said. "I've seen you before." The young Jedi didn't answer, and he didn't have to. Maz knew. She always knew. "The Republic put a bounty on you," Maz stated, slight tones of worry and warning entering her voice. She reached a diminutive hand out to rest on the boy's arm, in comfort or warning Jocque could not tell. "Anyone inside will be happy to collect it, but I have one rule: no fighting. I can give you one day of sanctuary. After that, when you're beyond my castle they'll come for you."

Jocque saw his young friend run a finger gently down the leather holster containing his lightsaber. "I'm sure they'll try," he stated, no hint of concern in his voice.

An uncharacteristically wary expression flashed across Maz's face. "My, how you have changed," she whispered. Then, quick as it had come, the wariness vanished and Maz's mask of jovial pirate queen returned. "Jocque, I've never known you to come here unless you need something."

Jocque took a few tentative steps toward the door, finally prompting his companions to continue inside. "Yeah, that drink," he asserted. "And, then maybe some help finding transport for a few of my crew. We're in need of medical facilities."

"I do keep surgeons on staff," Maz complained.

Jocque laughed, a hearty chortle. "I mean no offense, Maz, but I've never trusted your surgeons. Those critters scare me."


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Okuvad followed Jocque and Madam Kanata into the castle, analyzing their strange banter. As he had before, he found the ancient pirate impossible to read. Her present thoughts hid within a millenium of memories, like a whisper spoken in a busy crowd. Jocque's thoughts and feelings projected like a holosign. He laughed and smiled and joked with Maz, and it was all a facade. Fear radiated from the captain. Something had happened to him here and just the memory of it terrified him.

Then Jocque stepped inside the castle and the fear vanished. Something primal and nostalgic swelled within the captain. "Good music," Jocque remarked. "It's been too long since I heard good music." Okuvad watched quizzically as the captain started to sway this way and that, his steps suddenly matching the fast tempo of the music. "I need a good dance before we get to business. Excuse me, Maz."

The captain's change in mood and rapid departure confounded Okuvad. "That's just his style," Madam Kanata snorted. "Running toward fun and away from his problems, leaving the rest of us to clean up the mess." Her too knowing gaze turned to Okuvad, and his feet itched to run the other way. "Come with me, Child."

She led him through the busy castle cantina. Aliens from dozens of species filled the cantina: grumbling Gamorreans tearing into trays of slop, a Weequay arguing with a pair of Delphidians at a gambling table. He saw races he didn't recognize and listened to chattering in languages he'd never heard. They even allowed droids to mingle with them, the models strangely independent in their actions. A sweating Gabdorin ogled the pair of Twi'lek women joining the captain in a dance of twisting, tapping feet and gyrating hips. Okuvad didn't get the appeal of the music or the dance. He found the tempo too fast, a wailing squeezebox and rattling percussion dominating the sound. In spite of music Okuvad thought little more than grating noise, Jocque seemed to have the time of his life as he moved from partner to partner grinding against them. Maybe if Du would dance with him Okuvad could find the sound less grating.

"Stop staring!" Madam Kanata snapped at him. "Those girls usually charge for a show like that." She waved toward a nearby table. "Sit."

Okuvad cautiously eased himself into the chair as the strange being across from him slipped magnifying goggles over eyes and adjusted the lens. He tried his best to casually assess his situation. Madam Kanata had chosen a table partially obscured from the cantina by a stone buttress protruding from the castle wall. The position gave them a degree of privacy without the obvious effort of fleeing the cantina entirely. Their isolation from the menagerie of scum and villainy deepened as a protocol droid stepped between him and the cantina. The droid's bronzium plates curved into the likeness of a seductive female figure; Okuvad quickly averted his gaze with a blush, hoping Madam Kanata wouldn't chastise him again for staring. He peered up more sheepishly than he intended to find the magnified eyes of Madam Kanata staring back at him.

"You've changed," she said, gaze searching his face. "You're not the submissive youngling who passed through here before, beneath notice. Something has lit a fire within you." Madam Kanata sat silently for a moment perhaps giving Okuvad time to explain what that something was, but he remained silent. The silence stretched for an awkward moment that ended with a subtle smile from the pirate queen. "You freed yourself from that woman who called herself master. That's good, and you've fallen in with good people. Does the move from one to the other explain the injured crew?"

Jocque shook his head. "Lai Stree harmed no one. One of the crew simply encountered the wrong people. It was bad luck, could have happened to anyone."

"Is that so?" Madam Kanata asked rhetorically and with a hint of sadness. "Khadae's the one, then. He's the only one likely to get himself into trouble he can't get out of." She didn't wait for an answer, Okuvad's face making it clear enough. "We'll find someone destined for the Core. Your friend will find the help he needs."

"I'm sure the captain will find an appropriate way to thank you," Okuvad said. Madam Kanata continued her studious examination of him. He felt like those magnified eyes looked into his soul, weighing every atom of his being. He found himself at a loss, unsure what she expected of him or the proper decorum.

"When you were here before," Madam Kanata said wistfully, "your master sought knowledge of the Jedi-Sith war and the battle fought here long ago. She asked many questions she already knew the answers to." Madam Kanata reached across the table to gently rest a hand atop Okuvad's. "When I told her of the Jedi crypts below my castle she did not care and left in search of other ruins, other remains."

"We rejected-"

"The Jedi's dogma. Yes, yes, I've heard the pitch before," she chided, falling back into her chair with a smirk. "She says the Light and the Dark don't exist, but does she believe that? Do you?"

Okuvad sniffed dismissively and tried to flee the table. Madam Kanata caught his arm in a surprisingly firm grip as he tried bolting for the safety of the cantina. She quickly removed her goggles with her free hand and locked his eyes in a fierce gaze, her eyes projecting wisdom and just a touch of something that looked like sadness. "You pretend to run from the answers," she accused. "When you know you came here to find them. She'll seek you here, and when she does: get the answers you need, not the ones she wants to give."


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Okuvad hovered on the edge meditation, glad to be back on Hadron and away from the den of thieves Madam Kanata called her cantina. The meditation didn't consume him entirely, avoiding the risk of premonitions sweeping him away. He remained mindful of his surroundings though he contemplated his stay in the castle. Meditating in the Jedi crypts throughout the previous night he'd hoped to learn some ancient knowledge or secret as Lai Stree once did across the lake, but no spirits visited him. Though no revelations came he still enjoyed the tranquility of the crypts, reverent of the history encompassing him.

He didn't enjoy the feelings of his current surroundings. Hadron felt strange around him, empty. That morning Khadae, Du, and M'Linzi boarded some Dressellian's smuggling freighter and disappeared into the sky, destined for Hosnian Prime. Okuvad knew why Du accompanied him easy enough. The other he struggled to understand. M'Linzi refused to leave the musky camelid's side claiming the wounded crewmember and doctor would need protection away from Hadron, but the feelings Okuvad felt from her confused him. She did feel protective. The feelings he sensed were unfamiliar to him, intense but complex and beyond his comprehension. The captain also confused Okuvad. He didn't argue with her at all, readily allowing his security chief to abandon her post. He'd never know consideration like that when he was in Lai Stree's care. Her concerns were for knowledge and could care less about the wishes of inconsequential people.

The remaining crew relaxed in various places about the ship, or at least made a good show of it. Rayjer attended the weapons the captain now allowed him to carry, carefully cleaning and calibrating their various components. Inchinn sat adhered to his terminal, anxiously sifting through information as he tried to puzzle out the mystery of their ostracism. He could hear Stelisto cackling in the galley as he greedily ate from a box of jogan fruit pilfered from M'Linzi's quarters, a petty act of revenge. Okuvad could sense the captain angrily moving about the cargo bay, perhaps mulling over the impending arrival of new and unproven crewmembers. Madam Kanata had promised to find a few temporary recruits to help out around Hadron while they resolved their issues with the Republic, but she insisted that finding trustworthy help would take some time. Echoing from the cargo bay, the angry voice of the captain interrupted Okuvad's thoughts.

"Where's my cargo?" he yelled to no one in particular. "Inchinn! Stelisto! Why in the stars is my cargo hold empty? We've been robbed!"

Rayjer, reclining on his charging station, chuckled. "This will be fun," he whispered to Okuvad with a wink. Rapid steps sounded from the main corridor, and Rayjer began diligently examining the new DL-44 blaster pistol he'd acquired during a late night visit to the cantina. The captain passed their open hatch in a blur, running toward the galley. The defensive Huttese grumblings of their Dug crewmate drifted into Okuvad's quarters a moment later.

"Say that again!" the captain demanded. "Say it slower. I want to make sure I understand exactly what you're saying." Stelisto repeated himself in a painfully slow cadence that provoked an indescribable animal shriek from the captain. "Try that one more time," the captain ordered, "and keep it simple. For a moment there I almost thought you said you sold our cargo."

Laughter roared from Rayjer, quickly stifled with a mechanical hand over his mouth and bug-eyed glance toward the hatch in the hope the captain had not heard him. Tears streamed from the clone's eyes as he choked down the howls fighting to escape him.

"You sold our cargo!?" the captain screamed from the galley. "To Voras the Hutt!" Stelisto muttered something in his defense the captain found less than amusing. "No, selling it through a broker is not better!"

The sounds of a scuffle broke out in the galley and Okuvad jerked toward the hatch, his instincts compelling him to intervene. Rayjer released the grip over his mouth to stop him. "No, Commander. Let them have at it. It's going to get better."

Desperate attempts at communication came from the Dug, his words growing in volume with each repeat until suddenly the fighting stopped. "How much?" the captain asked. Stelisto pleaded his case once more, every word pronounced slowly and carefully as though he spoke with a child. "Huh," the captain snorted. "That is a lot of credits." Stelisto added another point, practically tripping over the words as he struggled to make himself understood. "Right, we have already delivered two armies of droids to them, and that is a lot of credits," the captain agreed. "Alright, alright," the captain said in harmony with the sounds of benches and tables being righted. "Maybe we're better off without unfinished work lingering over us." He paused for a moment, as a thought occurred to him. "Our benefactor might not be very happy about it."

Rayjer winked at Okuvad and-in a voice that wouldn't carry beyond their quarters-said, "See, worth the wait." They sat in cheery silence listening to the sounds of Jocque and Stelisto righting the galley and making up. The activity was a welcome respite from the quiet that had infected the ship since the departure of Khadae and his caretakers. Of the remaining crew, the aloof personalities of Inchinn and Stelisto made the absence of Khadae's gregarious presence painfully palpable. Everything that happened since fleeing Utapau weighed heavily on the captain, and his absent crew only heightened his sense of failure. He had smiled and laughed and danced the night away in Madam Kanata's cantina, but on the ship the captain brooded in silence and guilt. At least until his outburst with Stelisto. Okuvad hoped the physical struggle with the Dug helped the captain overcome some of his emotional struggle also.

With the others content with their own company Okuvad had no one to engage except Rayjer, no different than the rest of his time on the ship. Well, not exactly the same Okuvad had to admit. Since the night he'd touched Rayjer's dreams the clone's demeanor shifted radically for the better. The haunting stares and silence that unnerved the crew seemed a thing of the past. Rayjer had become quite social, joining the crew in the galley and readily engaging in banter. His renewed vigor shocked the crew. Okuvad had sensed their fear of the clone hiding in the back of their minds, but that fear faded with every laugh, joke, and smile from the clone.

Almost as though the clone had sensed Okuvad's thoughts, Rayjer stopped tinkering with his blaster pistol and said, "I'm glad you chose to remain on board, Commander."

"Running away now won't solve anything for me. I don't think it would help the crew either. We're stronger united, and I'm not going to lose that just to gain a few more days of freedom. We're in this together. It's our only chance of solving this riddle and clearing our names."

Rayjer harrumphed. "I hope you can, but I would not put much hope in Jedi and the politicians admitting their error. Their way is to bury mistakes until forgotten." The clone sighed, his gaze turning inward. His voice took on a pained, solemn tone as he spoke, "If we're the mistake, they'll bury us."

Okuvad gave up on his meditation position, uncrossing his legs and stretching onto his own bunk. He stared into the plain durasteel overhead of his quarters and thought about Rayjer's point. The clone was right; no one with that much power and influence could afford to admit fallibility. "Our hope is in General Grevious then. If he can rally the Separatists the Republic will have a real threat to address and can forget about us." Silence filled their quarters as Okuvad stared into the space beyond their quarters, considering the possibilities and choices he may face soon. "Rayjer," he said when his thoughts failed to find better solution than that suggested by the clone.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Thank you for being my friend," Okuvad answered. He didn't tear his eyes from the overhead, but he could feel Rayjer's own gaze boring into him.

"It's my honor, Commander."

Again with the rank. Rayjer may stick to the claim he was no longer fit for soldiering, but that did not mean the soldier didn't live on inside him. Ever since the skirmish with the pirates Rayjer had insisted on addressing Okuvad by the rank padawans held while serving in the Grand Army. Okuvad rolled onto his side, facing the bulkhead with the hope sleep may clear his mind. His hopes went wanting. Try as he might, his thoughts focussed on Rayjer. Helping the clone gave Okuvad a strange feeling. He'd never done anything like that before. For years he'd studied, researched, and served at Lai Stree's will without intervening in the affairs of others. He'd never done anything good or worthy. With Rayjer he had. He could see the clone improving with every passing hour, and he enjoyed the feeling. He enjoyed fostering something positive when so much of the galaxy suffered under war and fear. He drifted on pleasant thoughts until at long last a dreamless, serene sleep overcame him.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Okuvad jerked awake, springing from his cot so quickly the rush left him swaying on the edge of a feint. He didn't know how long he'd slept. The ship had yet to enter the period of lights out, now calibrated to the natural cycle of Takodana. Rayjer remained on his bunk, not that Okuvad could use that as a measure of time. The clone wasn't likely to move around the ship much with so few people to visit. Rayjer assessed Okuvad with a concerned eye, and after weighing what he saw for a moment the clone also quickly removed himself from his bunk. "Trouble," the clone stated.

Okuvad held a finger up, asking Rayjer for a moment. He took a deep, steadying breath as he calmed his mind and searched his feelings for a sense of what had startled him from his sleep. He felt a presence on the edge of his senses, cold and shrouded. He looked Rayjer steadily in the eye. "My master approaches."

"Trouble. I'll inform the captain to prepare our departure," Rayjer said, rushing to the door.

"Rayjer!" Okuvad snapped, stopping the clone at the hatch. "Tell him to make it fast."

The clone nodded solemnly then bolted into the main corridor shouting alarm and banging on hatches. Hadron's remaining crew jumped into action the way only an experienced crew could. The captain quickly relieved Rayjer of his role and began barking orders from the aft section of the main corridor as he exited his own quarters.

"Inchinn! Get to the cockpit and initiate the startup sequence. I want Hadron engines hot in seven minutes. Rayjer, what in the stars is this about?"

"Unexpected company, Captain," the clone answered with all the snap and clarity expected from a professional soldier.

"Get to the armory," the captain commanded, unnecessarily. "Stelisto! Armory, now!"

Okuvad stepped from his quarters and caught the captain's attention with a quick upnod. "Let me talk to her before you do anything drastic," he pleaded.

The captain respond with an exasperated shrug and demanded, "Who in the stars is it? What's going on?"

He showed the captain his hands, trying to pacify him. "It's my master. She has found us." They stood staring at each other for a long moment, the captain's face unreadable. He shook his head as he turned away. He didn't give any orders to Okuvad. Not even a suggestion.

Okuvad found himself on Hadron's entry ramp, descending to the ground. The world glowed in the light of Takodana's setting sun; he'd nearly slept the day away. He stepped off as the ramp touched down and stood with his arms akimbo, feet apart and ready. Only then did he realize he'd given the captain the opportunity to leave all his troubles behind. Hadron could launch at any second, leaving Okuvad with his master. He squinted into the darkening forests and scanned for the familiar silhouette of Lai Stree approaching. She was close now. He could feel it.

"Do you wait for me, Apprentice. Or, do you guard this ship from my approach?" her voice called from the shadows.

Okuvad searched his feelings and found no answer, for her or himself. "I don't know," he called back in honest reply.

"You've done well in my absence. You acquainted yourself with these scoundrels, using them to escape our enemy. I'm proud of you, my young apprentice." Her voice had moved, seeming to come from the forest some hundred or more paces from where he first thought her.

"Our enemy?" he asked the twilight. "I've named no one my enemy."

"The Republic," came her voice from one place. "The Jedi," from yet another. "Our enemies."

Okuvad turned slowly from side-to-side, searching for Lai Stree. "How can you name them our enemies? We fled for peace."

Mocking laughter echoed from the forest. "Still a child. Naive. Innocent."

"That's no answer," he shouted back at Lai Stree. "I demand an answer: how can you name the Jedi our enemy?"

Lai Stree's laughter came to a harsh end, her voice snarling from the dark. "You demand? Who are you to make demands of me?"

"Why am I forced to?" Okuvad countered. "Truth should be freely given."

Her response came cold and quiet, seemingly whispered in his ear though he still could not see her. "They set themselves against me. Do you dare do the same?"

Okuvad ignored the accusation, refusing to let her provoke him. "The Jedi didn't set themselves to anything. They're only reacting to the orders of Chancellor Palpatine. We're no threat to the Republic. We've done nothing but search for knowledge and wisdom." He was pleading by the end, and he dipped his head in shame for the briefest moment. With his eyes off the treeline his instincts cried out, some primitive part of him that feared things lurking in the dark. He quickly looked to the forest once again, beads of a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

Lai Stree's mocking laughter came once more. "The very essence of power." The laughing stopped with a sigh that swirled through the forest as wind. "You don't see it, do you?" she asked haughtily. "But, then, that's why I chose you. Because the thought would never occur to such a sweet child."

Frustration threatened the well up inside Okuvad, but he refused to surrender to his emotions. He inhaled crisp dusk air to cool his anger. "You'd rather run in circles than give me an answer. Why won't you reveal yourself?" Her answer came in actions rather than words. His keen eyes found her as he scanned the forest edge. Squatted near the edge of the clearing, her vague outline a black spot splayed against the deepening hues of the forest. Her eyes shined rufescent in the final rays of the setting sun. "Are you a threat to the chancellor?" he asked her.

"Threat?" Lai Stree crooned. "He fears no threats, but he will not abide a rival. There can be only two, and I sense he has at last found the apprentice he sought for so long. That leaves no room for me, or you."

A shiver trickled down Okuvad's spine. He'd tried to give her every benefit of the doubt. He'd seen the pieces already but refused to put them together holding onto the hope he erred, the hope things could return to the life he knew. Hope that did not exist. He had only one more question to ask. A question he didn't want to ask and she wouldn't want to answer, but Madam Kanata's advice rang in his ears. "On Utapau, how did you escape the Jedi?"

The dark shape of Lai Stree stood, a slight movement for her stocky legs. "I tire of your games and this planet. End this silly charade and come to me."

The Force flowed through Okuvad. He extended a trickle of will to his side and felt his lightsaber slide quietly from holster to hand, the salvaged hilt an imperfect fit but comforting nonetheless. "I'll only ask once more. How did you escape the Jedi?"

Lai Stree's lightsaber ignited in her hand, bathing her in red light. "How do you think?" she snarled.

Okuvad ignited his own blade, the silver beam wrapped in perse tendrils shining like sun-kissed amethyst. "You're not the master I'm looking for," he accused.

Lai Stree's answer was nearly a growl, beastial and filled with rage. "Then what use are you?"

Okuvad lept, propelling himself forward with the Force. Lai Stree vaulted to meet him in a clash of blades, argent and crimson. The impact sent them spinning as they crashed to the ground. Okuvad twirled his blade desperately hoping to catch Lai Stree off balance from the fall. Her lightsaber danced in her grotesquely long fingers, blocking his attacks. He swiped first for her face hoping for the quick kill, and when she pushed that attack up and over he continued the arc around and down to cut back for her legs. She blocked that with a swipe so hard it spun him away. He caught himself on the backstep and thrust hard, hoping to surprise her rushing in. She anticipated that move, too. Lai Stree touched his blade with her own and whipped them both in a tight circle. Overextended and off balance Okuvad failed to counter and watched in horror as his lightsaber spun free of his hands, deactivating and tumbling into the dark.

Okuvad shrieked, "Oh, sh-" cut off as her thrust of the Force sent him sailing backward. Panicked, he failed to right himself. He struck something unyielding, bones in his sword arm and shoulder shattering with the impact. He'd have screamed if Lai Stree's push hadn't knocked the air from him. Okuvad rolled onto his back and found himself staring up at Hadron's hull. She'd thrown him into one of the massive hydraulic arms supporting the entry ramp. A breathless scream escaped his lips-barely a whisper-as he impotently tried to will the ship and crew to flee. The air above him erupted in fire. He rolled his head to follow the length of the ramp up to the opening in the ship. Rayjer braced himself against the recoil of his cannon, the barrels spinning out a continuous stream of plasma bolts. To one side crouched Stelisto with a blaster carbine while the captain stood on the other with his pistols, each firing fast as their weapons were capable. Hadron's crew fought for him, the three laying down enough firepower to cut through a whole company of battle droids.

"Get back in the fight, Commander!" Rayjer bellowed. "We can't hold her long!"

"Flee," coughed Okuvad, too weak and too late. Lai Stree's lightsaber became an impenetrable shield, spinning deftly in one hand as she reached with the other. She tried the clone first. Okuvad saw his cybernetics sparking and straining against her will as Lai Stree tried ripping him from his perch with the Force, but Rayjer had learned his lesson from Okuvad. The clone's magnetized feet remained firmly rooted to the ramp's thick durasteel.

So she took Stelisto. The Du screamed as he flew through the air. Lai Stree barely interrupted the dazzling display of blocking to swipe at him as he flew past. The flicker of red passed through the length of his body, and a twitch of her offhand sent the halves disappearing into the forest. Just like that, Stelisto was gone. Rayjer learned that lesson, too. The six-barreled monstrosity of a weapon dropped to his feet and mechanical hands shot out to catch the captain before Lai Stree could tear him away. Rayjer twisted toward Hadron's interior and-with a backhanded toss-threw the captain as far into the ship as possible.

Lai Stree had her opening. The Force filled Okuvad as he sprang to his feet, broken arm flopping useless at his side. He hadn't seen his lightsaber land, but he felt the call of the kyber crystal within. As surely as the crystal had drawn him to Utapau he now called it into his working hand. Again he lept into the oncoming path of Lai Stree, stopping her before she could reach Hadron's ramp. She unleashed a barrage of attacks as she screamed in rage, but Okuvad surrendered himself to the Force letting it guide his hand. Anger fueled her strokes, each cut impacting his blade like a hammer. His blocks came a fraction ahead of the attacks as she tried battering him down, the Force feeling like a living being guiding his parries into perfect position. Lai Stree wouldn't fail to recognize his wounds and weakness. Even submerged in the grace of the Force he wouldn't be able to counter her for long. His wounds would inevitably slow his efforts and she knew it. Okuvad grimaced and feigned a stumble backward. Lai Stree took the bait! The thrust came for his heart, a kill move. Okuvad countered with the same whipping parry she'd used against him. A crimson lightsaber tumbled into the night. Triumph!

Lightning erupted from Lai Stree's gnarled fingers. Okuvad's body contorted with electricity that wracked his body and sent him reeling to the ground. He screamed as he felt the shattered bones of his arm and shoulder tearing into spasming muscles. He screamed and screamed and screamed, and the louder he screamed the harder she laughed. Then it stopped, and Okuvad gasped for air.

"Too dumb to see, too weak to fight. The perfect little stooge." Okuvad's vision blurred and spun. He couldn't see his lightsaber, and Lai Stree's attack had muddled his senses. He couldn't maintain his feeling of the Force to sense anything with it. He could see his master. She stood over him with her arm outstretched, but not pointing at him. He followed the line of her arm to find Rayjer fighting against her thrust of the Force. The clone snarled like an animal as he pushed against her will, his magnetized feet and her power locked in stalemate. The clone leaned into her will, his body at an impossible angle as though he struggled against a great wind. Enraged, he slammed his mechanical hands into the ramp and tried launching himself forward with the power of his four limbs. He didn't move.

Lai Stree tore her eyes from Rayjer and looked down on Okuvad with disgust. "You almost convinced me you could be useful, that I should give you a chance." She shook her head with contempt. "Look at what you've become. Allies with this thing," she said with a nod toward the clone. "Fighting for the Light like some pathetic Jedi."

He couldn't fight her. He couldn't overpower her. He was broken and beaten, defeated beyond doubt. "Im sorry," he cried to his master. "I'm sorry. Have mercy!" he pleaded, rolling onto his knees and good arm, groveling at her feet. "I didn't understand your power," he swore, lying his head on her feet as he prostrated himself before her. "Have mercy!"

"You could never be a worthy appren-Rrraaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeee!"

Lai Stree screamed as Okuvad's teeth sank into her leg. Her concentration faltered for only the barest fraction of a second, but Rayjer had the fastest reflexes credits could buy. He hit her harder than a charging Wookie. Okuvad tasted blood in his mouth as the impact tore Lai Stree away, leaving only a shred of flesh between his teeth.

* * *

CT-19-8412 wrenched his hand free of the clinging remains of the creature's chest, flicking the lingering bits of gore from his cybernetics. "Messier than killing clankers," he complained to no one in particular. He turned to his commander, ringlets of smoke rising from the poor boy. "Commander," he asked, "can you stand?"

"I feel terrible," the commander wheezed, spitting trace's of the creature's blood from his mouth. "Help me to my feet."

CT-19-8412 placed his hand in the armpit of the commander's uninjured arm and lifted gently as his mechanical limbs allowed. He maintained a steady pressure as the commander slowly pulled his legs under him and rose. He waited patiently while the commander wobbled slightly trying to find his balance. "Sir, we need to get you to the medbay."

The commander held up his good hand trying to place his soldier at east. "I only need a second."

"You can take your second while you're marching to the medbay, or you can take your second waking up in the medbay with all these injuries AND a sore jaw."

The commander groaned his defeat. "Fine," he barked. He held his hand out and CT-19-8412 watched uneasily as a deactivated lightsaber hilt floated from the dark into his outstretched fingers. He carefully slid the device into the leather holster hanging from his belt. "Lead the way."

CT-19-8412 made his way up the ramp slowly to avoid agitating the commanders wounds. They'd nearly entered the ship when the commander stopped and once more held out his hand. The creature's lightsaber came tumbling out of the dark to land in his hand with a meaty smack. "I'm keeping this," the commander said.

"A trophy?" CT-19-8412 asked.

The commander shook his head. "I don't know. A keepsake, maybe. Something so I don't forget."

They left the captain where they found him, crumpled unconscious against the corridor bulkhead. He was still breathing with no signs of bleeding or broken limbs. He thought the captain likely had a mild concussion from his impact inside the ship. He'd wake soon enough. The commander took priority for immediate care. He managed to reach the medbay under his own power, though CT-19-8412 needed to lift him onto the bed. The commander gingerly tried manipulating his damaged arm while CT-19-8412 rummaged through the psychotic doctor's storage for supplies. He palmed a hypodermic injector filled with a few choice ingredients. "Commander, this should help until we can find someone to fix you up." He didn't wait for an answer, injecting the cocktail into the boy's thigh.

"Youch!" the commander cried, jumping slightly from the injection. "If I wasn't already in so much pain I'd complain about tha-whoa. Got shot of the good stuff…" he slurred as he sank into his slumber, arm and legs splaying outward on the bed.

CT-19-8412 left the commander behind and stomped his way to the cockpit where the ship's clanker pilot and sole conscious crewmember busied themselves at the controls. "Status report!" he demanded of the pair.

" _CT-19-8412, as a mere passenger of the ship you do not carry the authority to demand a status report,_ " the droid pilot chirped.

The skeletal being in the copilot chair chastised the droid, "Dani, this isn't the time." He didn't turn around as he continued the boot sequence for the ship. The engines hadn't even fired yet. CT-19-8412 realized the fight below had lasted barely more than a minute, though it felt like an hour. "Rayjer, is Jocque still alive?"

"He is. The commander, too."

Inchinn knew how to read between the lines. "Poor, Stelisto," he said quietly. The Givin shook his head dramatically, "No time for that now. I need Jocque in the cockpit. Comms and the HoloNet are going nuts."

"The captain's out cold. Update me while you get us off this planet," he demanded.

Inchinn hesitated, and he worried the often unsociable alien might ignore the order. Inchinn tapped one bone-white finger on the console in a steady beat before deciding. "It's all bad news," he said at last. "HoloNet News reports the Jedi have turned on the Republic. They attempted to assassinate Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Attempted and failed. Palpatine has been declared or declared himself emperor-that part isn't clear-and the rumor on comms is the clone army is now hunting Jedi across the galaxy."

CT-19-8412 whispered under his breath, "Order 66."

"What did you say?" Inchinn asked quickly, turning stiffly to look at his passenger.

"Nothing," he answered. "Get this ship in orbit." He stormed out of the cockpit, shaking his head in confusion. He needed space and time to think but found himself back in the medbay, standing over the boy who had done so much for him. He looked down at the boy who had treated him like a human for the first time ages. The boy who'd thrown himself at pirates and that creature to defend this ship and crew. CT-19-8412 barely felt the weight of the DL-44 in his hand. He'd never seen Okuvad do anything that warranted execution. He felt something inside him, something that wanted to dominate him and control him. A thing he'd always known was there but never admitted. The thing the clones never spoke about but all knew, sharing sidelong glances and hidden glares behind the Jedi's backs. But, Okuvad wasn't like those Jedi. The compulsion tested his resolve. He knew, that for one of them to live the other must die.

The cool metal of the blaster pressed against warm flesh.

* * *

Jocque woke to find himself in a crumpled heap upon the deck. Pain throbbed throughout every millimeter of his being. Gingerly, he set to righting himself, slowly twisting and turning until he sat with his back to the bulkhead and his legs stretched in front of him. Something important had happened. Or, was happening. His head slumped to his chest as he tried to remember, one hand shielding his eyes from the bright lights of the corridor. He peeked through the tiny slits between his fingers trying to find something to jog his memory.

His eyes fell on the shapes of his pistols on the deck near him. He collected them slowly, one at a time. He holstered one pistol across his belly easy enough, but he couldn't fit the blaster into the other holster while seated. Groans filled the corridor as he used the wall to shimmy back to his feet. He prodded carelessly with the pistol trying to find the holster, nearly dropping the thing before it finally slid into place. Why had he-?

A memory returned to him with a snap. A firefight! Outside the ship! That thing battling Okuvad. Stars, it murdered Stelisto! Jocque tried his damnedest to make his brain work again. They had been outside… He looked to the entry ramp and found someone had raised it, setting the locks for flight. Had he done that? The corridor was empty and awash with white light. Sunset. He could remember the sun had set when they were fighting, but the white lights were still on. Overriding the night cycle was a manual action; someone was still alive.

Phwam! The report of a blaster discharge echoed through the corridor. The volume of the shot sent Jocque's head whirling dangerously, and he nearly collapsed from the throbbing assault on his senses. "That came from the forward end of the ship," he told himself, trying to talk his body into cooperation. "Do something, you idiot!"

Jocque stumbled down the corridor, one hand pressed against the bulkheads and hatches keeping him from keeling over. All the hatches were closed except the medical suite and cockpit. Inchinn stepped into the galley, stiff legs and arms jerking hurridley. "Get back in the cockpit and do"-Jocque couldn't remember if he'd ordered the Givin to do anything-"whatever you're supposed to be doing."

He stumbled into the open hatch of the medical suite, expecting that thing Okuvad had fought waiting to cut him in half. He found Rayjer instead, standing to one side of the medical bed casually twirling his blaster back into the holster on his thigh. The smell in the compartment turned Jocque's stomach, and he slumped a shoulder against the hatch to keep his feet. Okuvad was on the bed, arms and feet splayed in utter relaxation. Jocque searched the boy looking for signs of…

"What have you done!" Jocque screamed in terrible realization. "What have you done!"

* * *

CT-19-8412 studied the body of the traitor Jedi-justly executed per the will of Emperor Palpatine-before turning to the captain, confused. "What do you mean, sir? I'm a soldier," he answered, "and good soldiers follow orders."


End file.
